Hexandria 


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ALICE WELDON WASSERBACH. 


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fiexandria. 


WRITTEN IN THE. FOND HOPE 
OF P/. EASING MV DEAR MOTHER 
WHO HAS EVER BEEN THE SPUR 
OF MV PEN. 



By Aliee Weldon vWasserbaeh? 


THE CA USE OE IT. 

I A DIVINITY IN GREEN. 

H. A DIVINITY IN BLACK. 

HI. A DIVINITY IN RED. 

IV. A DIVINITY IN WHITE. 

THE PROEESSOKS SKYLARKING. 
DE AIM'S YOUNG. 

AN EASTER KING. 

A QUIVER OE ARROJVS. 

RICA'S EYES. 


’a 

1894. 


rATHKINDKR PI' Bl. ISH ING COMPANY, 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 


Copyright: 1S94, by Alice \V. Wasserbach. 


'Pl3 






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PRESS OF 

QO-OPERATIVE printing company, 

WA5HINQT9N, 9, C. 

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^he “Personal” Word. 


little volume, written in many moods, 



is sent into the world of letters with a spirit 


of hope and a counterbalancing one of fear: 
Hope, that the intention made be detected even thro’ 
the cold medium of the printer’s ink ; Fear, that 
the advent of a few tales from the stub pen of a 
schoolgirl half way thro’ her teens may be received 
with cold, uncomprehending stares, and that the 
hopes may be stoned to death with the harsh words 
of unsympathizing critics. 

The title selected, after much contemplation, is an 
expression of that spirit of hope. Hexandria, in 
botanists’ vocabulary, is the name of that class of 
flowers which has six stamens. With a bit of imag- 
ination, I have fancied this first book of mine the 
flower, and the six tales, the stamens to scatter seeds, 
as their floral counterparts do. Although this fancy 
may require too much imagination to render it appro- 
priate, it has pleased me to have my book published 
in this way, to see it springing up like a blossom in 
the springtime of the year. 

Can not each reader find a few grains of indulgence 
to cast into hope’s side of the scales of merit and 
demerit ? 


AivICe: WKhDON Wasse:rbach. 


Washington, D. C. 


3 






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In (^hangefalne 58 of 


Morn. 

I. 

Beneath the magic of the morning’s smiles, 

With blushes rosy ’neath the sun’s first peep, 

I see the ocean with its tender wiles, 

Half drowsy, heavy-lidded from its sleep. 

Unto my lattice with shy touches creep. 

II. 

As though ’twere caught in some coquettish play 
It dimples, blushes, sways as if to flee 

Into its first timidity and stay away. 

And then, from curtains drawn, I see 
The laughing water coming on to me. 

III. 

How soft it fondles the impressive sands. 

And nods beneath its rows of nightcaps white. 

How merrily it tosses shells, with hands 
Caressing while they cast their burdens light 
Upon the beach amid the splendor bright. 


IV. 


Fair sea, in gentleness of voice and touch. 

With mischief-seeking hands as maiden fair, 

Thy tenderness of beauty, ah, is such 
That I seem caught as by a <i>n i^nA^^nair 
And 'vatch you while you play with conches there. 

5 




6 


IN CHANGKFUIvNKSS of mood. 


Noon. 

I. 

In tempestness of mood beneath the ray 
Of brilliant sun, that hangs so calm o’erhead, 

My sprightly comrades of the dawn of day 
Begin to churn in fury, as long fed 
With carcasses, yet longing for more dead. 

II. 

It tosses recklessly and seems to think 
That bounding sands contemptuous silence hold. 
And are, ’twixt life and men, the only link 
That may yet save men from the tyrant bold, 
Who tosses, beats and casts them in the cold. 

III. 

The throbbing of the mighty heart of waves 
Shakes deep the tyrant bospm of the sea. 

As though it knows that what it geuth’^ laves 
At dawntinie, it, with energy so free. 

May capture and hold to its heart with glee. 

IV. 

Oh, giant terrible, they frowns so deep, 

Brings sorrow to a heart that loves thee so — 
Loves thee in moods of anger or ol sleep. 

That when thy winds’ sad miseret'e blow, 

I weep with thee, believing in thy woe. 


IN CHANGEFUIvNKSS of mood. 


7 


Eventide. 

I. 

A loving follower, the silver moon 

Steals softly after day’s great beacon life, 

Its face grows bright with dreamy smiles, and soon 
A beam so soft-illumining, so bright. 

Slips through a rift within the veil of night. 

II. 

And o’er the gentle, murm’ring, drowsy sea 
There spreads a softly, soothing, mellow glow. 
And in this beam of light whence shadows flee. 

As babies, dreaming, smile, there slowly flow 
A myriad of dimples, bright and low. 

III. 

With rippling rhythmic lullaby as waves. 

Half wakened by the moon’s caressing beam. 

Go tumbling sleepily into some caves. 

And thro’ half open eyelets send a gleam 
Of brilliancy let forth as from a dream. 


IV. 

Oh sea, as in thy sweet dream-dimpled light. 

You drowse and doze beneath the moon’s soft stare. 
Close to thy great heart soothed by touch of night. 

Oh sea, so restful, strong, let me hide there 
The sorrows of my heart now aching bare. 


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^he 5^Q5e of If. 


I. 


A DIVINITY IN GREEN. 

EWAYS after supper the most delightful 



feeling permeated every pore of Phillip’s 
mind and body. There was an indefinable 


essence in the taste and steam of the warm rolls that 
appealed to his senses and, after appealing, soothed 
them into a state of delicious semi-consciousness. 
When he felt this tender feeling steal over him it 
was his custom to take a cigar and stroll along by 
the murmuring sea — a peculiar mixture of practical 
and aesthetic enjoyment. 

This was the mood that possessed Phillip Exter 
one evening in late June; but he had so far deviated 
from his usual course as to stroll upon the board- 
walk instead of on the sea shore. A breastwork of 
sand shielded the Cottages from the water; over this 
Phillip could just see the waves breaking in the 
white moonlight that is so well known at Virginia 
Beach. He was passing the many pretty cottages 
that line the promenade, now and then breaking into 
an introspective whistle, between the puffs of his 
cigar, and all the while gai^Jng upon the boards of 
the walk with thoughtful attention. 

In the repeatal of a particularly difficult bar, he 
broke off suddenly as a green-robed figure presented 


9 


16 


THK CAUSK OF' I'F. 


itself like a vision before him. By the light from 
the mellow moon he could see that this figure’s 
hands were clasped imploringly before her ; that the 
bright hair was waving agitatedly about her face ; 
that she was pretty. He could notice no more, for 
his attention was attracted to her voice, a childishly 
sweet one, just now full of sobs and entreaty. 

“Oh, sir, pardon me !” she exclaimed, “but can’t 
you help me? I live in that cottage there, and I’m 
all alone this evening, and I’ve heard such horrible 
noises.’’ Her voice broke suddenly from fright and 
loss of breath, 

“Of course I will help you,’’ answered Phillip, 
promptly, that delightfully semi-conscious feeling 
immediately taking wings. “Shall I come and 
see?’’ 

“If you only would,’’ said the imploring vision; 
“I would not dare go in alone.’’ Then, as they 
turned into the path that led to the grey-gabled 
house she had pointed to, she explained the situa- 
tion. 

“ My mother and aunt are spending the evening up 
the beach, and I had a book to read and would not 
go with them. Then, as luck would have it, both 
the maids had callers, and when they begged to 
walk on the beach I could not refuse. And after 
that I heard the noises upstairs, and I was frightened 
half to death.’’ Again she paused in an excited 
little way and drew closer to big, manly Phil. And 
he, in a big, manly way, said reassuringly : 


THE CAUSE OF IT. 


1 1 

“Oh, you needn’t be afraid now, I was prominent 
on all football teams at college, so no burglar would 
venture near me.'" 

At which big, manly remark the girl threw a 
grateful, half-smiling glance from eyes so dark that 
Phil’s face grew furiously warmer from that one 
gaze. And then she pushed open the heavy door 
and led Phil fearfully into a hall with wide old 
staircase, and doors showing glimpses of the oak- 
finished, book filled library, the handsome parlor, 
the substantial dining room and a dainty room full 
of divans and couches and cushions. 

The girl stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning 
against the post with its antique figure upholding the 
lamp, and put a finger across her lips. Phil, man- 
like, paid more attention to the quaint, slender figure 
than to the expected sounds. Presently she turned 
to him. 

“I can’t hear anything now,” she said; “but 
would you mind going upstairs and looking about?” 

“No, indeed,” said the sly fellow, “only you 
must come with me that we may leave him some 
loophole of escape.” 

“Not that so much,” she laughed, “as that I 
myself need protection.” 

“Ah, but perhaps my political beliefs do not 
sanciion protection.” 

“Then I must find myself another guardian. But 
you are very unkind to liken me to any goods 
imported.” 


12 


THE CAUSE OF IT. 


Phil had it at his tongue’s tip to say he was refer- 
ring to the sugar que.stion, but he refrained and only 
laughed instead. So up the stairs they went, he fir.st 
with a small lamp; she following, with eyes shining 
more brightly in her fear. In this order they went 
the rounds until they came to a door entering one of 
the ocean rooms. 

“This is my room,” said the girl, “and I am very 
much afraid he is in here. There is a little balcony 
on the side and he could enter in that way.” 

Phil opened the door rather cautiously, it must be 
confessed, and stepped into the room. There was no 
one there ! The girl followed timidly. There was 
so much drapery in the room that a man could easily 
conceal himself. While she was peeping behind it 
Phil ga:ced with an artist’s e^^e around the room. It 
was a room worthy a sea-nymph, everything being 
draped in green crepe paper, all of an exquisite shade. 
The dressing-case was shadowed by it ; the small 
brass bedstead was overhung with it ; the pictures, 
the writing desk, the table were festooned with 
green and olive and alive with flowers of the paper. 
It was the daintiest room he had ever seen or imag- 
ined, and seemed a fit setting for the girl who 
occupied it. She at length finished her search and 
came to him. 

“I have looked everywhere except on the bal- 
cony; I am hardly brave enough for that,” she 
announced. 

Phil stepped to the crepe-hidden window and 


THE CAUSE OE IT. 


13 


pushed aside the portiere, and immediately some- 
thing brushed past him, and the girl gave a little 
scream. 

“Why, Polonihs, ’’ she cried. And Plu’llip, turn- 
ing, saw a great black cat cowering down at the feet, 
the pretty small feet, of its amazed mistress. She 
looked up at the young man who still held back the 
curtain. 

“I am so sorry,” she .said, with a deep blush tinge- 
ing her cheeks. “How could I have been so 
stupid? I have given you so much trouble,” con- 
tritely. 

“ Not at all, ” said Phillip, heartily; “it has been 
an adventure I have enjoyed.” His eyes were very 
audacious in what they said to this girl whom he had 
never seen before. He recognized this when the 
blush deepened on her face ; turning his speaking 
e^'es away, he moved toward the door, asking with a 
little laugh : 

“Do you think we need search further?” 

“I am ashamed to confess that Polonius is the 
mischief-maker; he doubtless closed the door, he is 
so strong. ” 

Then they went down into the moonlit hall to- 
gether, and stood for a moment in the wide doorway. 

“ I do not like to leave you alone now, although 
the cat did make the mischief. Had I not better 
call the maid.” 

“I think” she said, rather shyly, “if you have no 
objection that I will go with you. Altho’ the ini- 


14 


THB CAUSE OF IT. 


pression was unfounded, it still lingers with me, and 
I do not like to be alone.” 

“Objection?” He did not answer her question 
further; his intonation was quite enough. So to- 
gether they went down to the moon-bathed sea, in 
silence. When they came in sight of the waves, 
Phillip spoke. 

“I am rather late in doing so,” he said, “but I 
had better introduce myself to you. My name is 
Phillip Exter, and ours is the brown cottage a little 
further up the beach.” 

“And I,” said the girl, “am Wynifred Dale Rich- 
mond, generally called Dale, and generally con- 
sidered a very timid personage indeed — except 
where the water is concerned. There, I am invinci- 
ble.” As tho’ it heard and mocked her boa.st, a 
great wave broke close to shore and she was forced 
to retreat from the advancing water. 

“There,” repeated Phil, with emphasis, “you 
are invincible.” 

“Well,” she answered, laughing, “I am invinci- 
ble, but not when I have mere house slippers on.” 

At this moment two couples, each member in 
interesting proximity to the other member, came 
into view, and stopped in surprise before the girl 
and the man. They were the two maids and their 
callers. When they had been directed homeward, 
Miss Richmond and Phillip returned to the board 
walk in front of her cottage. 

“You must blame the Fates for spoiling your 


THK CAUSK OF IT. 


15 


evening’s walk,” she said, as she gave him her 
hand in parting. She had thanked him very prettily 
for his courtesy. 

“Blame them!” he echoed. “Rather render 
them endless praise and thanksgiving.” With this 
remark, half in fun, wholly in earnest, he walked 
away. But now, in place of the introspection, he 
gave his memory up to picturing her face and artless 
little ways. 

It was on the next morning that Phil again saw 
the maiden of the romantic adventure. Before the 
morning german, he found himself bowing and 
flushing before Miss Richmond. He had oppor- 
tunity between the sets of studying her features 
and movements. 

He discerned immediately that she was different 
from the other girls in manner and dress. Although 
she wore a simple summer dress, there was an origi- 
nality in the flounces, the laces, the ribbons that 
could belong to Dale Richmond alone. Her hair, of 
a rich yellow hue, was parted in the middle and fell 
in loose curls from her face to the dainty psyche 
knot. She wore a curious little affair of velvet, like 
a crown, which encircled her head and divided the 
hair in front, and this, together with the delicacy of 
features, exquisiteness of coloring and piquant ex- 
pression, made the face attractive and not easily 
forgotten. 

Phillip was inexpressibly charmed with her, and, 
when he had pushed his acquaintance with her to 


i6 


THE CAUSE OE IT. 


the boundary line of friendship, and had expended 
all the charms of his conversation — and they were 
not few — upon her, he found she possessed a mind 
as interesting, piquant and soulful as her very inter- 
esting, very piquant and very soulful face. 

As the summer advanced, he and she grew more 
firm in friendship for one another. They used to go 
in with the crowd of gay bathers every afternoon at 
five, and he, diving in with rare enjoyment after her, 
would find the shrill screams of the ladies still ankle- 
deep in water coming to him thro’ the green depths. 

She seemed a veritable sea-nymph in her green 
bathing suit, that suited her as everything she wore 
did. It was of a delicate sea-green, with a deeper, 
darker splash about the hem ; with it, she wore a 
jaunty little green cap with a faintly pink shell, 
fastened at the side with womanly ingenuity. She 
had a decided charm in the water that drew him 
closer to her. She had a cute way of diving under 
the waves and then, rising to the top, and shaking 
her head in a way that made her hair fly from her 
pink face in little tender yellow curls. 

What wonder then if the mighty heart of waves 
inspired their young hearts ; what wonder if, meet- 
ing the waves, as twin atoms in that mighty mass 
of atoms, their hearts beat more fervidly and their 
fresh blood flowed on toward that endless reef-ful 
sea of human love. 


THK CAUSK OI^ IT. 


17 


II. 

A DIVINITY IN BLACK. 

^ N CLAM-BAKES, in oyster parties at Lynnhaven 
^ Bay, in straw rides to Cape Henry, in sailing 
\ clubs to Cape Charles, in bathing sallies, in 
pedestrian excursions sped that summer away, until 
the day came that was the “Finis” to Dale Rich- 
mond ’s visit to Virginia Beach. Kxter, with sorrow as 
to the cause, and rejoicing that his lagging courage 
would be pushed to the pleasant but difficult task, 
felt that now the momemt had come when he must 
lay his hopes for his life at Mi.ss Dale’s dainty feet. 

When the delighful feeling that had made part of 
the Phillip Exter into whose life Dale had come on 
that June evening permeated him, he sallied forth, 
treading again the boards of the old promenade in the 
same introspective mood, and gazed into the mellow 
depths of the moon with the same hopeful spirit. 
Again he saw before him the green-robed vision that 
always now made his heart beat so warmly. Standing 
at the gate of the little garden she was gazing with 
dreaming eyes upon the sea. He seemed to startle 
her when he approached and yet not exactly unpleas- 
antly. “Isn’t the sea perfect to-night?” she said, 
lifting eyes that reflected the moon’s splendor and 
seemed to glow with the phosphorus that was now 
flooding the sea. “It is perfect to-night in honor of 
you,” he said ; “it will not see you again until next 
year, and it has decked itself out like a vain but 


i8 


THS CAUSE OE IT. 


loving woman. Let us go down to the beach and 
watch the glow.” 

If her eyes had not been clouded with dreams she 
would have known what it was he intended to say to 
her, but she thought only of the ocean — the beauti- 
ful water. She went close to the water’s edge, and 
as each new wave would break in white, white foam, 
she would fill her hands with water and let the rich 
phosphorus gleaming liquid run through her fingers. 

While they stood by the water thus, that same old 
strong, black cat, Polonius, c .me rubbing against her 
dress. He had followed his fond mistress to the 
sand. Dale took the great, heavy thing into her 
arms, and petting it, lost sight of the waves and the 
dreams. So when Phillip, leaning over her in a 
strong, eager way, started to speak what his eyes in 
an instant told her, she was frightened, and yet, in- 
genious she laid the rough -furred Polonius in his 
arms, and said he was too heavy for her to hold. 

But Phillip grasping the cat could not open his 
lips to say those words. Dale drew him in haste 
toward the cottage, but just before they mounted the 
bulwark of sand, Phil threw the cat away violently. 
And then he spoke to her in intense words, with 
intense face. But she thinking only of her crying 
cat, with the tenderness of her spirit for her pet, 
and not for him with the open love in his face, and 
not for herself with the unseen budding love in her 
heart, answered hastily. She was sorry; he would 
forgive her; she was only fond of him. And then 


the: cause: OU it. 


19 


she ran lightly away after her meowing cat, and left 
him alone there by the droning, sleepy, phosphor- 
escent sea. The next morning Dale received a little 
note from him, bidding her good-by, and saying he 
was gone before this was received, on the earliest 
train into Norfolk. It was a queer little note, giving 
a tightening sensation to her throat, but even then 
she did not know what This meant. 

When the Norfolk, Albemarle and Atlantic train 
steamed out from behind the lovely hotel, after she 
had caught a last glimpse of the green Atlantic, it 
was only regret for the ocean, the pleasure, the com- 
panion, that she felt, not for the haunts that recalled 
a lover. 

In the life that she entered in on her reiurn to that 
up-Hudson town, she had but little thought of Phillip 
Kxter. For the change from the exuberant air of 
Virginia Beach, with its ocean and pine forest in such 
close proximity, to the northern air- had acted de- 
pressingly on her aunt’s health. She had been 
delicate of late, and had shown a tendency to con- 
sumption. So when the Southern roses faded from 
her cheeks and that troublesome cough began to 
rack her slender frame, Mrs. Richmond and Dale 
betrayed much anxiety. 

Anxiety as it proved was justly the order of the 
day, for the gentle old lady sank into confirmed 
invalidism which advanced rapidly into a dangerous 
state. 

In Dale’s character now grew up a womanly 


20 


THE CAUSE OF IT. 


sweetness and patience that seemed to grow more 
womanly, and more sweet as the days crept by that 
bore the invalid to the grave. She had but little 
time for thought of Phillip and those happy d^5^s at 
the Beach, but devoted all thoughts and attention to 
her aunt. Thus was that gentle lady’s life cheered 
on to the end which came one late afternoon in 
September, the darkness of death falling with the 
darkness of night. On the morning of the funeral 
Dale was summoned into the library and there met 
Phillip Exter ; the friend of summer-time, of glori- 
ous days and ideal nights, had come to her in her 
hour of sorrow. 

She read in his ey^s all that was in his heart, but 
at this time when the dear aunt la}^ dead in the 
parlor be3^ond, it seemed sacrilege to speak of his 
worldly happiness and hers. And so she repulsed 
his advances, and he in these repulses read a cold- 
ness in her heart that he could never thaw. During 
the services at the church, when Dale’s whole heart 
seemed desolated by the loss of her aunt, he was a 
great comfort, with his delicate attentions and sym- 
pathy. But when Phillip Exter took leave of this 
black-robed girl who was so gentle and sweet and 
withal so calmE' cold, he had put aside those summer 
dreams of his and determined to sternly face the 
winter of the hardships and strong winds of life. 

After about a month spent in that Northern town. 
Dale, the womanE", black-robed divdnity that he was 
pressing into a secret corner of his heart, left her 


the: causk OT it. 


2 I 


home and went, he knew not whither. With stifling 
his pain, new lines came into his face; with ever 
seeing and yet not wishing to see her form, his eyes 
grew darker and deeper and sadder ; with always 
longing for her his life seemed full of discontent. 


III. 


A DIVINITY IN RED. 



HKN THE first touches of spring began to 


illumine the Capital City with the bright 
leaves of trees and fill the air with the 


balminess and bird trillings of growing life. Dale 
Richmond and her mother, after an extended tour 
through the West, came to Washington. They 
rented a house on New Hampshire avenue near 
Dupont Circle, and Dale tried to forget herself in 
household pleasures. For, of late — since, in fact, 
they had broken the ties with home — she had found 
herself thinking more and more of her seaside lover, 
until now she confessed to herself that it had been 
more than mere friendliness that she had felt for 
him. But these thoughts she tried to stifle as he 
had tried before her. 

And so the days passed onward and Mrs. Rich- 
mond, Dale, and Polonius, the cat, began to like 
their new life. They had been discussing it one 
evening — the difference between the old life and the 
new — when the silver chimes of the library clock 
announced the hour of eleven. After that conversa- 


22 


THK CAUSK OF IT. 


tion, Dale retired to her room with her thoughts 
playing truant in the suinmer-time before her aunt 
had died. 

It was from a dream of those happy, happy days 
that she was awakened by Polonius. The cat had 
jumped upon the bed and was crying loudly in her 
fond mistress’ ear. She, half sleepily, pressed her 
hand against the rough fur, but the feline continued 
its unmusical cries. 

Dale at last sat up in bed in impatience, then, her 
mood changing, she jumped quickly from bed and 
lighted the gas. She started back in affright ; the 
flame seemed misty and far away, it was overhung 
by clouds of smoke ! She rushed into the hall, but 
the smoke drove her back. A flame was creeping 
up the stairway; there was no loophole of escape in 
that direction. 

“Mother! Mother! Mother!” screamed the girl, 
in an agony of fear. Again the smoke drove her 
back into her room. Closing the door, she ran to 
the windows and opened them, breathing in the 
fresh air with a grateful, terrified sob. To her ears 
the night seemed broken by the frantic scream of 
“Are,” which burst from the lower floors. The 
servants, who all slept below, were arousing the 
neighborhood with their cries. 

Soon the calmer tones of the fire bells tolled out 
upon the midnight air, and the clanging of the engine 
bells came nearer. Dale called again and again, but 
receiving no reply, she returned to the door. There, 


THK cause: of it. 


23 


the flames, crackling and snapping, and seeming full 
of eyes that laughed while they gleamed, were 
approaching the heavy draperies over the doorway, 
banishing all thoughts of escape by the staircase 
from her terrified mind. 

She had almost determined to leap from the win- 
dow, when a thought like an inspiration of her guar- 
dian angel, flashed into her brain. The ladder, with 
the aid of which several pictures had that day been 
hung in her room, was still there. By it she might 
hope to reach the roof. Excitement lent strength to 
the slender hands, and enabled her to place it against 
the framework of the entrance to the low attic. 
Then she began the ascent, a difficult ascent, with 
the sharp rounds of the ladder hurting her feet. 

She heard the hissing crackling of the flames; she 
pushed onward till she reached the top ; she raised 
the cover and was soon in the attic. The trap door 
above was fastened by a bolt. She pulled with all 
her young strength; it did not move. 

Filled with despair she de.scended and stood there 
in the gathering smoke with her hands clasped. 

% * 

Mrs. Richmond had been awakened by Dale’s 
piercing cries, and, terribly alarmed, she immediately 
comprehended the situation. The thought of the 
flames could not deter her; danger c uld not prevent 
her attempt to join her daughter: but the smoke, 
creeping stealthily into her lungs, overpowered her, 
and the servants rushed shrieking to the hall, from 


24 


THE CAUSE OF IT. 


the rear of the house, in time to bear her into her 
room. 

Opening the windov/s they shouted for help until 
the fire department, notified by a neighbor, came 
tearing up the streets. Even then they were in 
danger, for their cries were drowned by the noise. 
Against the background of lurid lights, however, 
they were in sharp relief and were spied by one of 
the brave men. Then the gallant men of Company 
B bore the insensible form of Mrs. Richmond from 
the room. A moment afterward it was in flames, 
and in the room above there stood that white, 'Still 
figure with the folded hands. 

At length Dale crossed to the window, but the 
smoke was coming in volumes from the room below 
and she could neither see nor be seen. Relinquish- 
ing all hope of escape, she sank upon her knees 
beside a little table ; and in doing so, her hand came 
in contact with a silver button-hook which lay on her 
jewel case. Taking both, and Polonius — who at 
this moment, rubbed its fur against her feet — she 
again mounted the ladder. 

“Itismyonl)^ hope of life,” was her unspoken 
thought. Placing the hook over the knob of the 
bolt, she pulled with all her strength. Again and 
again with no effect. The room was full of smoke, 
the door seemed but of paper, so thin had the heat 
made it. The girl was feverish with excitement and 
terror, the thought of such a death was appalling ; 
the smoke was already affecting her. 


raK CAUSE OE IT. 


25 


As a last effort she summoned all her will power to 
aid her departing strength ; a last final pull and the 
bolt had slipped back. She raised the trap door, and 
in rushed the cool night air, lending its strength to 
the exhausted girl. She crawled feebly to the roof ; 
the tin seams hurt her tender feet, the air — the balmy 
air of spring — was frigid after the heat of the oven 
within. She hurried onward ; ever before her was 
the danger of her mother and herself — the possibility 
of the roof’s catching fire. She ran almost blindly 
forward, when suddenly she missed her footing and 
fell ; and the clanging of the bells and the roar of 
the flames and the meowing of the cat, deepened into 
the droning of a phosphorescent sea. 

Seventy feet above the earth, above its noise and 
din, a burning house with the flames even now burst- 
ing through the roof, the night winds blowing with 
their never ceasing murmur — a girl, dreaming of the 
Atlantic, lay there, hands outstretched as she had 
fallen. The low sighing moan of the wind filled her 
ears and drummed into consciousness the drowsing 
brain. The fiery tongues of flame that Neptune had 
not quenched brought all recollection back and with 
a sob. Dale attempted to rise. Her hand came in 
contact with the elevation which had caused her fall. 
And the sob turned into a little delirious whisper of 
joy. It was a scuttle hole ! 

She knelt on the cold tin beside it, and with her 
slender hands beat against the wooden door. There 
was no response. Bethinking herself of the jewel 


26 


THK CAUSE OF IT. 


case, with it she pounded upon the door. Hearing 
no answering sound, tired petulant tears came to her 
eyes; when she was about despairing she heard a 
man’s voice come up from below: 

“ Who under heaven is making this racket? ” 

And with Polonius’ meowing an accompaniment. 
Dale sent her trembling voice in answer. 

“Our house is on fire,” said she, “and I’m here on 
your roof. ” 

She listened anxiously after her explanation ; then 
came the reply. 

“If you will wait a moment, I will let you in.” 

Soon she heard a ladder being brought, then steps 
upon it, until, as the trap was raised, a man’s head 
appeared. 

The moon’s soft rays were shining calmly and 
clearly upon the two: Dale with her shining hair, 
loosened in the excitement, forming a golden screen 
around her shoulders, and her eyes large and dark 
with fear — the man with the deepest of dark eyes, 
and midnight hair, which clustered in curls about his 
broad brow. 

He stared in speechless amazement at the fair 
vision before him ; she, with tearful gladness in her 
voice, said, tremblingly, “Phil.” 

That was all, but it was enough to make him put 
forth his hands and take both of hers in his. He 
was too surprised to speak and too shaken by the 
meeting. All the old love that he had thought he 
could hide, rushed over him and flooded his face and 


THE CAUSE OE IT. 


27 


eyes. Again he saw her in that attitude that was 
identified with their first meeting, with the same 
expression, startled and pleading. And it seemed 
to his gladdened heart that the glad look that had 
passed to her face when she recognized him must be 
a portent of good fortune. 

Although he felt these things while her hands 
were still held in his happy clasp, all he said to her, 
aside from his eyes, was : 

‘‘I will arrange the ladder so you may descend.” 

With that he returned to the floor below. Soon a 
gentle feminine voice called up to her : 

*‘You can come down now; there is no one else 
here.” 

Then Dale, with strength that the sight of him 
had given her, descended the ladder, and was met 
by a comely matron, who said to her : 

“I am Phillip’s — Mr. Exter’s — sister, Mrs. Wal- 
lace. I sympathize with you so much. Poor child, 
come to my room, and I will give you a wrapper. 
You will freeze! ” And then she affectionately led 
her downstairs into a handsome chamber, and slipped 
a warm, crimson wrapper over Dale’s chilled shoul- 
ders. When that poor maiden sank down upon the 
couch in a passionate burst of weeping, she was 
comforted and soothed in a thousand womanly ways. 

As soon as she discovered that her guest’s mother 
was probably still in danger, she sent word to Phillip 
to institute a search for Mrs. Richmond. Meanwhile 
Mrs. Wallace coaxed Dale into a tale of the whys 


28 


THE CAUSE OE IT. 


and wherefores of the fire, and complimented her for 
her bravery — although personally directed — and in- 
genuity, until some of the latter’s horror wore off — 
all except the fearful anxiety concerning her mother. 
Mrs. Wallace listened at the head of the stairs for 
the opening of the door. When she announced it, 
Dale ran quickly down into the hall. 

“My mother?” was all she said, but Phillip recog- 
nizing the terrible anxiety in her face, immediately 
reassured her. 

“She is safe,” he said, “in a neighbor’s house, 
but can not be disturbed even by you, as the doctor, 
whom they sent for, gave her a sleeping draught.” 

When he saw the look of fear flee from her eyes, 
his self-control snapped asunder, and his own hopes 
came bursting forth. He held his hands out to her. 

“Dale,” he pleaded, “is this meeting to count for 
nothing in our lives? Are we to keep on in our sep- 
arate paths, with my love worth nothing to you ; am 
I to go on living without you?” 

And then she, with a voice that trembled with the 
intensity of her emotion, and eyes that glowed as 
with the phosphorus of the sea, answered him. 

“I do love you,” she said. “I never knew how 
much I loved you until now.” 


THE CAUSE OF IT. 


29 


IV. 


A DIVINITY IN WHITE. 


SCENT of flowers, the trills of birds, 



the breeze of seas, the roar of waters, and 


above all, the sound of a priest’s benediction 


and the low run of a bridal march, that flowed 
from the keys of the organ, like the murmur, the 
thrilling, lapsing, laughing mumniur, of an ocean 


wave. 


And afterward? Well, just the vision of a 
divinity in white with phosphorescent eyes, and a 
man with the full strong light ot loving happiness 
on his face. 

‘ ‘ And whom do you think I thank for all this 
bliss,” asked the man; then answered himself, 
“I thank that old, black cat, Polonius!” 





AS AN EXPRESSION OK PUPILARY RESPECT AND AFFECTION, THIS LITTLE 
TALE IS DEDICAIED TO HIM UNDER VVHOSP: GUIDANCE, THE WRITER 
FIRST LEARNED THE LAW DEMONSTRATED THEREIN — 

TO DR. WILLIAM HEDRICK, THE WELL-KNOWN. WELL-LIKED AND VERY 
scientific professor of physics at the WASHINGTON 
CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL. 



HEN EOVE comes on even the tei acious 
hold of science is unwillingly loosed until 
the victim, without assistants, stands within 


easy range of more of the poisoned darts. Thus it 
was with the Professor. When he first fell beneath 
the sun-like rays of Mrs. De Yiddy, he felt the thou- 
sand fingers of science gradually loosing their hold 
upon his mind, and leaving him unprotected before 
her fascinations. And to poor Professor Fysix, un- 
versed in the ways of womankind as he was, she was 
a most enchanting creature. 

In all the light of the wisdom of the first year of 
the twentieth century, he believed her a beautiful 
woman. He did not know that the nose which 
loomed fortli from lier roseate countenance was of 
the gently-tipped kind termed Irish, and he admired 
her but the more, because with her eyes she could 
see two sides of any scientific object at once. The 
Mrs. De Viddy was not equally oblivious of the 
faults of the Profes.sor. What woman ever is, of 
any man’s? She knew that the Professor’s olfactory ^ 

instrument was distinguishable by the startling ab- 
2 HEX 31 


32 THE professor’s skylarking. 

ruptness of the hook, and that his complexion was a 
delicately sand-colored one. But with womanly 
wisdom she decided that too crooked and two 
straight eyes were better than two crooked ^yes 
alone, especially since but half of the allotted four 
score years remained to her. 

Consequently Professor Fysix dangled from the 
roseate widow’s apron string for about a year. Then 
the Professor took a resolution such as each man has 
taken at some period of his life : he would propose. 
And after he had brought all his knowledge of the 
sciences to bear upon the important question, he 
learned by heart a declaration. Soon after this, he 
received a note from Mrs. De Viddy. Wouldn’t the 
Professor delight her heart by appearing at a fancy 
dress ball to be given at her hotel? “Be sure to 
come in fancy cosluine!” Who can blame the Pro- 
fessor for accepting and who can wonder that when 
he went to select his costume, his knowledge of 
physics, astronomy and like subjects, failed him. 

The poor Professor was an innocent man for all 
his years, and had lived so quietly before he met the 
widow that he was little versed in the wicked ways 
of the world. So, when the costumer told him, with 
an admiring smile, that a suit consisting chiefly of 
white tights and a low-cut shirtwaist would be most 
becoming to himself and most fascinating to his 
“lady friends,’’ the deluded man immediately en- 
gaged it. He then retired to his laboratory until the 
evening should come when he would announce his 
desire to marry the widow. 


THE professor’s skylarking. 


33 


During those days he turned his mind again to 
science. He wondered the first day if his love were 
making him insane, for he was sure, quite sure, he 
had passed the sun twice within the twenty-four 
hours. On the second day he became deeply inter- 
ested, as he had passed the sun three times. He 
studied up the subject and spent hours over his 
books. Then the Professor went wild over his sci- 
ences and saw the sun more and more frequently, 
until, on the day of the fancy dress ball, he was 
firmly convinced that the earth had revolved sixty- 
three times within the last twenty-four hours. 

He knew then that the close of hi=; scientific life 
and of thousands of wasted lives was at hand. But 
as the evening approached he felt all his old love 
for Mrs. De Viddy revive, and he determined to 
have her rubicund self near him at the last. And so, 
with Spartan-like firmness, he clad himself in his 
tights and decollette shirt, and, wrapped in a long 
ulster, he hurried to the festive hotel. It was the 
first time he had been in the open air since the 
phenomenon had begun, and now he felt the heat of 
the atmosphere. The earth, in its rapid revolutions, 
imparted to the molecules of air an energy which 
generated heat. His costume was therefore well 
suited to the warmth of the evening, and, in ad- 
dition to this, the fact of its becomingness pleased 
his elderly heart. 

Arriving at the hotel he found the other guests 
assembled. “Professor Fysix,’’ announced the man- 


34 


the: PROFESSOR’S SKYRARKING. 


in-waiting. A sigh spread around the room as he 
entered, for the pitying multitude saw that science 
had not been able to perfect its devotee. The legs 
of the Professor were curved so that in his white 
tights he resembled a huge parenthesis. But he, 
unknowing, saluted Mrs. De Viddy’s fat hand with 
a kiss that was as warm as that of a boy of twenty 
kissing his youthful sweetheart, and twice as bashful. 

With Mrs. De Viddy on his old arm, he mingled 
with the guests and found that the phenomenon 
which he had noticed had attracted much attention, 
but that the people of this neighborhood, boasting 
but one professor, and that himself, did not appre- 
ciate their danger. When the Professor perceived 
this, he tugged gently at Mrs. De Viddy’s arm and 
directed to her such pleading glances, that she coyl}^ 
consented to walk in the garden. And then he told 
her his belief in the near end of the world and of 
them. The coy widow with her left eye saw the 
darkness of night in the West, but with her right she 
saw the sun again appearing over the eastern horizon. 

Therefore she readily believed his statement and 
rested herself against the Professor’s scientific 
breast, covering both sides of the linen with her 
tears. And thus they stood and talked until the sun 
disappeared far in the west. And immediately they 
felt a great commotion in the atmosphere, the sky 
grew black, and then, they felt themselves lifted 
high into the air and borne on as by a mighty wind. 

The Professor slipped his arm around the widow’s 


THE professor’s skylarking. 


35 


healthy waist, and gazed with observant, altho’ 
startled, eyes around. He saw the trees bending 
toward the South, and many breaking, even, with 
the fiercene.ss of the strange ru»h. After a hasty 
glance at the frightened widow who was being 
borne on as a feather, he looked below and behind 
again and saw hundreds, aye, thousands, of his fel- 
low-men following after. They were all rushing with 
horrible swiftness to the south. The Piofessor cal- 
culated that the equator would soon be reached if 
this marvelous speed were retained. 

The widow began now to betray some interest in 
her surroundings. She turned her head and saw 
flying after them, in all costumes, men and women 
and children and dogs and cats and birds with wings 
tightly closed. It was all very queer, thought the 
Professor’s beloved, but notwithstanding her affright, 
she gave a little sigh of womanly thankfulness 
because she and the Professor, dear man, were lead- 
ing this grand multitude. 

At last, far ahead of them she saw another mass of 
supposedly civilized and savage beings rushing with 
equal speed to them. Onward they came, nearer! 
nearer ! to the point of clashing, until she almost felt 
the stray hairs of the be-mustached Brazilian directly 
opposite to her upon her cheek — then, with an in- 
stantaneous movement, they ceased. She gazed 
horrifiedly, inquiringly, at the Professor with her near 
eye. 

“It is the equator,” he cried, “we can go no 


36 THK PROF'KSSOR’S SKYLARKING. 

farther;” but even as he spoke, they rose directly 
upward with as great a speed as that with which they 
had come. The Professor’s loose, low cut shirt was 
inflated with air, and beneath it the poor bowed legs 
in the white tights looked painfully old and thin. 
As they went further from the earth, he felt it grow 
cooler and longed, notwithstanding the fascination 
which this costume possessed for ladies, that he had 
worn some other one. Then with lover-like affection 
he turned to the widow, who was still encircled by 
his arm. 

She had worn a charming Elizabethan gown to the 
fancy dress ball and now presented a curious sight. 
The ruff was standing up as in affright about the 
rose-bloom face with eyes — or rather eye — that could 
look coquettishly at the Professor even now. Her 
long train was sailing beautifully behind and with the 
balloon-shaped skirt made a striking contrast to the 
extremities of her companion. Even while he gaz.ed 
a sound like the shrieking of the convicted in the 
other world arose to their ears. They did not know 
that it was the whistle of a steam engine blown by 
the rushing wind itself ; and they were accordingly 
terrified. The widow was in an especially harrowing 
state of mind ; she was sure, quite sure, that they 
were on the direct road to Heaven, and she sobbed 
and prayed with a vehemence that shook the Pro- 
fessor. 

He, learned man, knew the particular law in 
physics which was being demonstrated on so large a 


TPIR professor’s skylarking. 37 

scale, and was, even in the face of that rarefied air 
which they were approaching, anxious to observe all 
of his surroundings, probably to assist him into the 
other world. At last, what he had half expected 
occurred. The invisible force that had borne them 
upward, began gradually to lose some of its rapidity 
of motion. Little by little, little by little, it slack- 
ened until the Professor and iiis companion found 
themselves stationary above the clouds. The Pro- 
fessor cheered his companion, and then glanced 
about with those observant eyes of his. 

They had been surrounded by a crowd of fellow- 
travelers, who betrayed much interest and amuse- 
ment at the antics of this little, scantily-dressed man. 
P'or the Profes.sor was taking great leaps into the air, 
for the sake of his favorite science, and seemed 
delighted when he discovered that he returned to his 
resting place just the same as tho’ he had leaped 
from the earth’s surface. A few English-speaking 
persons present a.sked him the reason of such actions. 
The Professor strutted about on that invisible fldor 
of air, stating that he did these thing for the ad- 
vancement of science. When called upon eagerly 
to account; for the present occurrence, he straight- 
ened the collar of the low-cut shirt and began : 

“ By experiments it has been discovered that the 
globular shape of the earth is due to its revolutions 
upon its axis ; now nature is practically proving our 
theory: that if the earth should increase its velocity 
we would be thrown from the earth, just as we have 


38 THK PROI^IJSSOR’S SKYLARKING. 

been. The earth, at present,” pointing downward, 
“is not increasing its speed, and so we, aided by the 
power of gravity, remain stationary here. Now if, 
as I think very probable, the earth should rotate less 
and less swiftly, gravity will attract us back again to 
the earth’s surface.” 

Mrs. De Viddy here seiijed the Professor’s arm 
with her face ablate with excitement. 

“Will we fall all this distance. Professor, dear?” 
she cried, fearfully. Besides her fear of falling, she 
was rather disappointed, I believe, at the thought of 
relinquishing the idea of bodily entering Heaven 
with the Professor. 

“We shall fall,” answered the Professor, sooth- 
ingly, “but only as tho’ we were sinking from this 
great earth to one but an inch or so beneath. And 
if, by chance, the real world has revolved a certain 
number of times, we shall sink to the very spot over 
the equator where we rested before, and shall thence 
journey homeward. ’ ’ 

•But the honest widow was still in a flutter of ex- 
citement, and so the Professor had to calm his 
Queen Elizabeth. In the conversation that ensued, 
drowned, almost, by the many tongues . and many 
voices of the multitude, he found an opportunity to 
make that declaration that he had studied so jeal- 
ously to acquire. What matter if it was filled with 
physics and astrology and astronomy, or if it was a 
trifle stiff? In love everybody raves over the heav- 
enly bodies ; besides, what woman ever scorns a 


THE professor’s skylarking. 39 

sign that she is the only woman that a man has 
loved? The red of the worthy widow’s cheeks was 
further enkindled, when, forgetting the hooked nose, 
the sandy complexion, and all else save his virtues, 
she gave herself to him. 

And he, while kissing her fat cheeks, found her 
more beautiful than ever, for the blue air between 
his eyes and hers counteracted the effect of the 
healthful blood in her countenance. 

At this interesting moment the foolish pair felt 
a slight shock, a pull at their feet, and found 
tlicmselves surely, surely sinking. The widow, with 
her greater amount of flesh and blood, was torn from 
the arms o^ her devoted Professor, and P 11 more 
rapidly than he. But as she passed his feet her out- 
stretched hands caught his slippers with the long, 
fantastic, turned -up toes, and she held them in her 
eager grasp. Thus the honest dam i assisted Pro- 
fessor P'ysix in his downward flight. He leaned 
over, the little Professor, with his bowed legs in the 
white tights which looked bluish white in the blue 
air, and the inflated decollette shirt, and spoke 
tenderly to the woman floating down beneath him. 

They passed on through the clouds out into the 
depths of warm air below. The sun that had been 
passed by the earth so many times smiled on them 
familiarly and seemed amused at the trip they had 
taken into the realms that owned him sovereign. 
The Professor, with his eyes incented by what he 
knew was happening, imagined that he could see the 


40 THE PROEESSOR’S SKYEARKING. 

decrease in the earth’s movement. He saw the 
earth arching beneath him as the sky arched above, 
and a feeling of joy came over him as he saw the 
green globe beneath. 

He calculated the moment when they would begin 
to depart on their lateral juurney. Mrs. De Viddy’s 
motion ceased for an instant, and in that instant 
Professor Phj^six reached her. Then they went 
northward, still flying swiftly through the air. The 
Professor assumed his usual proportions; Mrs. De 
Viddy’s ruff settled itself, and they both drew to- 
gether like two cooing doves. 

Occasionally a neighbor from the accompanying 
throng would salute them, but they soon became 
oblivious of everything save their love. They were 
in this stage when they arrived at the town — at the 
hotel where Mrs. De Yiddy lived, and they were 
alfectionately entangled when they settled down 
upon the very spot in the very garden where they 
had stood on that last night on earth. 

And as they stood there facing each other, he, 
with his thin, bowed old legs and hooked nose, she, 
with her double sight and rubicund countenance, 
they sighed. 

“What a glorious journey,’’ said the widow. 

“It shall be our wedding journey,’’ answered the 
Professor. 


iDeeith’s 


SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH AND WORTHILY BEAUTIFUL FUNERAL OF MR. 
FRANK HATTON, THE PATRON OF LETTERS, THE EDITOR OF 
THE WASHINGTON POST, THE REGRETTED MAN. 


T WAS during the early spring that their friend- 
^ ship began. He, striding easily down the shady 

' street, saw the little figure coining toward him, 
the tiny finger in the rosy mouth and the eyes full of 
tears. 

“Why, what is the matter, little one?” he asked, 
when they met. She looked at him tearfully a 
moment and then took the small finger lingeringly 
from her mouth. There was a short scratch on it 
with the red blood welling up. 

“My little kitten,” she said, and with the bright 
tears rolling down her cheeks, “ I loved it so. ” He 
took the little form up in his arms, and striding on 
down the street, came to his own house. He passed 
in thro’ the dark rooms, out to a side veranda. 
There he put her down. 

“ Now, I will make it all well,” he said, and took 
a small package of court plaster from his pocket. 
She watched him intently while he laid the small 
piece on her finger. When he had “kissed it to 
make it well” she was sure, quite sure, it had 
already healed, and was quite ready to forgive kittie 
and love him. 41 


42 


death’s young. 


“What is your name?” he asked, when he had 
placed her on the railing and was holding her there 
with one arm. 

“Phyllis,” she said ; “ what’s yours?” 

“Raymond,” he answered. 

“What a pretty name,” she said, and put her 
small hand on the dark head near, caressingly. 

That was the way their friendship began, a friend- 
ship that soon grew into both of their lives. She 
was such a sweet, sympathetic child and so oddly 
wise for her seven years. He, to her, embodied the 
most beautiful of what was grown, and the most com- 
panionable, for soon the difference between his 
eighteen years and her seven sank into insignifi- 
cance. She used to come to him every afternoon 
after his school and they would go out into the fields 
together, and would lie and talk for liours beneath 
the trees. P'or she unconsciously strived to grow 
old in her talk with him, while he, joining in with 
her innocent thoughts and ideas, went back again 
into his childhood. 

He would have been very desolate at this time 
except for her. Mrs.* Sorrel had felt the coming 
heat too much to remain in the city, and she had gone 
in the Northern mountains. Her boy was thus left 
alone in their large house, but his studies and little 
Phyllis kept him from feeling too much the gloom 
of the place. 

He had always been a rather melancholy boy, 
especially since his father had died, four years ago. 


death’s young. 


43 


The elder Raymond had been a physician, and his 
son, being intended for the same profession, had seen 
much of the suffering of life, but this, while it early 
enabled him to serve the sick, had brought thoughts 
into the boy’s mind foreign to healthy youth. He 
began to think much about the death of which he 
saw so much, the death that is a climax to tragedy, 
the death that is tragedy itself, and the death that is 
a relief. As he grew older, and when he was the 
'Milan of the house,” he looked upon death in the 
latter light. Not that he was sullen and morose, 
but his nature seemed to be one of sadness. He 
appreciated all the beauty of the earth and the fresh- 
ness of the summer air, but it was the appreciation 
of one without it all, of one for whom the beautiful 
earth had not been made, for whom the air was not 
made warm and fresh and inspiring. He was the 
most comforting of deathbed assistants, for with his 
own willingness to die he could insiiire others, so 
that the parting from this life was not so terrible and 
heartrending as if this boy had not been near. Even 
now, early in life as he was, his friend-physicians, 
and, sometimes, the professors in his medical college, 
found him a help at those moments. 

Tittle Phyllis, with a child’s intuition, felt the 
sweet sadness of his nature and almost unconsciously 
became more subdued herself. Sometimes she 
would draw him into a little game of her own, but 
when she saw his hands fall idly, she would come 
and sit beside him and they would talk soberly for 


44 


dkath’s young. 


young hearts. Oftentimes the subject would be 
death ; and she, who did not know what death was, 
came to believe in it as he did. He did not know 
that he was changing the child’s nature, but in her 
anxious questioning he would so often find food for 
thought, that he loved to linger there with her and 
think again on the great problem. It had long since 
grown to be the one thought of his life, this death 
that others dreaded, but which he loved ; it was not 
to him the heart-cold man, with scythe ready for 
young and old, but the kind, grey-haired father who 
lays his hand upon the hearts with their worldly 
thoughts and troubles, and changes all the aching 
longing to one endless peace. There beneath the 
trees, with birds and flowers and all happy life 
around, they discussed death, those two in the very 
springtime of their lives looking forth to the shadow. 

“But, Ray,” began Phyllis, one day, with her little 
hand on an early-fading flower, “see, the flowers 
die, and they are not unhappy.” 

“Death teaches us a lesson here, he answered, 
plucking a daisy for illustration. “This little daisy 
lives in the midst of the beauties of nature, with the 
grass around, and the birds and the trees and the 
heavens above, yet these will die when winter 
comes. And other daisies as white and gold as this 
next year spring up to fill its place, and brighten 
lives of other human beings as this has brightened 
ours. Do you see the lesson for us, little one? This 
flower that lias done no harm, that has only lived to 


de:ath’s young. 


45 


bloom in others’ lives— in our lives — dies and dies 
willingly. Why, then, shouldn’t we who live for 
ourselves alone, and who live sinningly — why 
shouldn’t we die, and willingly?” 

“Is everybody so dreadfully wicked, Ray?” with 
a sorrowful expression on the fair little face. “You 
are so good, as good as they tell me to be in Sunday 
school. ” 

The boy smiled at the childlike compliment, and 
then went on seriously: “The world is not all 
wicked, dear ; there are many, many good people 
here, but, compared with the flower, we are all dis- 
pleasing to God. And since God takes the life of 
the flower, why should we consider death a punish- 
ment and a punishment to be dreaded? Why, death 
is the greatest of God’s gifts; when you reflect how 
we sin, and what faults we are developing and what 
wickedness we are storing up against our souls’ sal- 
vation, each extra day that we live, we should rather 
welcome death.” 

The little giiT sat silently beside him. Young as 
she was she understood these things that he was 
saying, and felt each word vibrate within her. They 
both loved death and this same love proved another 
bond of sympathy. At last he rose up. “Let us 
go now, Phyllis,” and as .she sprang up and slipped 
her hand within his, and he saw the fresh, healthful 
beauty of her face, he stooped to her and said, “I 
do not want you to long for death, little sweetheart, 
but you must live so it may never find you unready 


46 


death’s young. 


for it.” And the child answered, “Yes,” and it 
sounded like a promise. After that Phyllis thought 
even more of death, and with that promise in view 
resisted every little temptation that came into her 
life. Thus Raymond Sorrel, while saddening the 
young nature, raised and strengthened it beyond its 
years. 

A few days after this conversation, Phyllis saw 
Raymond walking rapidly down the street, with the 
sad expression that the child had learned to know so 
well. She tapped on the window to him, and then 
not satisfied with the smile he gave her, she ran 
downstairs to speak to him. When she came out 
into the street he had passed the house, but she ran 
after him, and slipping her hand into his, called his 
name. He turned his face to her, and started back 
with horror on every feature. 

“Go away, Phyllis,” he cried, “you — you must 
not come near me.” Then he backed down the 
street, but seeing the trembling, surprised, sorrowful 
expression on the child’s face, he said, “You may 
come down, Phyllis, dear, in about an hour, and I 
will see you.” Then he passed on down the street, 
walking very rapidly. The child stood looking after 
him with a heart-broken expression on her face, then 
she turned homeward. It was the first time he had 
ever repulsed her, and the whole tender little heart 
was quivering from the stroke. She wandered about 
the house until the hour should be up, and in that 


death’s young. 


47 


hour she was firmly convinced for her lifetime of the 
relief of death. 

When the hour was up, she walked slowly down 
the shady street, with the usual bright expression of 
the pretty face clouded by the pain. He came to 
meet her at the door and they went to the veranda 
where their friendship had first begun. I did not let 
3^ou come,” he exclaimed, “because I have been 
where there is a great epidemic brooding. [He had 
long ago explained his frequent medical phrases to 
the child.] The poor people who live in the southern 
part of the city are having a dreadful time. Many 
of them are ill — very ill, with a disease that even 
the doctors fear. Many physicians have refused to 
attend them, so they are in a worse position than 
ever before here. I have been down there all the 
morning helping the poor wretches ; I was afraid if 
you came near me you might become ill too. It is 
a very painful disease, but very rapid ; the few 
doctors who are trying to check it are much afraid it 
will spread throughout the city.” 

The child spoke now for the first time, anxiety 
occupying the place of the pain on her face. 

“Suppose you should be taken sick, Ray,” she 
asked. 

“I shall not be, little one,” he answered, quietly. 
“It seems to me that only those poor wretches die 
who fear to die. I have just seen four men shriek- 
ing with terror at the thought of dying, and yet 
death should be to them a relief from hard, unpleas- 


death’s young. 


ing existence.” The lines of sadness were again 
appearing in the face above her. 

“If they only knew how to die,” the child said, 
and put up her soft, white hand and smoothed the 
the face, with love in her eyes. Rajunond seemed 
to awake from a trance. “I do not think it is well 
for you to stay, little sweetheart. You had better 
tell your mother about this, and see if she thinks it 
best for you to be near me so much now. I am not 
going out again to-day, so you may come to tell me 
early to-morrow morning. I pray God it will soon 
be over.” 

Phyllis then returned home sorrowful, but the 
dreadful repulse of the morning had been swept 
away by his kind words. 

Raymond sat in his room thro’ the long evening 
thinking. He was going to start out in the morning, 
so that night he pondered again over his great 
thought. He was rather young to see so much of 
death, and his nature was too serious, but the 
thought that made him sadder than other boys had 
made him sweeter. The thought was with him all 
that night, and in the morning he was sadder, still 
longing for the relief. It was still very early in the 
morning, when, as he was leaning with his head 
upon his hands, he heard a light footstep behind 
him. It was Phyllis, and a most downcast Phyllis at 
that. 

“Oh Ray,” she cried, “we are going away this 
morning. Mama is afraid. I can only stay five 


death’s young. 


49 


minutes,” and then she hid her face in her hands 
and sobbed. He comforted her ever so gently, with 
his arms about the little form that shook with the 
grief. 

“It will not be for very long;” he said. “You 
will be back soon and we will have our walks again 
into the woods and meadows. And we will gather 
flowers together and sit on the sunny banks and 
never go away again.” With such tender words he 
soothed her until she dried her eyes and, save for an 
occasional quick sob, was herself again. She told 
him then where she was going, just four or five miles 
into the country, and he made her promise to bring 
him some pretty wild flowers. 

“But about death, Ray,” she said. She wished to 
hear her master again on his favorite subject before 
she went. “ You need not think of that, little sweet- 
heart,” he said, “only be sure of this: that you live 
5^our life so that when death conies you will be pre- 
pared for it, so you will meet it as I shall meet it, 
willingly and gladly.” 

He watched her while she went up the street, the 
sunlight on the bright curls and the little white hand 
sending back kisses to him. And then he went back 
into the lonely, glooiii}^ house, and prepared to attend 
the poor wretches dying without his comfort — his be- 
lief in the relief. 

Phyllis had now been gone about three weeks and 
a half. She had had a pleasant time in the green 
fields, hunting the prettiest flowers to take Ray. 


50 death’s young. 

She wandered .thro’ the meadows hour by hour 
and repeated his last words. Now, when she could 
not hear his voice, all the old thoughts gave her 
pleasure. She remembered the lesson which he had 
said death taught by the daisies, and so she gathered 
a great bunch of them for him. The epidemic had 
been checked in the city and her mother had decided 
to return. 

Again the little figure was seen passing down 
the street, the sunlight tipping the gold of her hair, 
the gold centered daisies which she carried. She 
passed up the steps of his house and was so busy 
arranging the great bunch that she stumbled over the 
step. But she caught herself in time and passed on 
into the hall. The place was quite dark and the air 
seemed heavy with the perfume of flowers. She 
stood a moment in the dark hall and then stepped 
into the drawing-room. The place seemed a mass of 
flowers, the walls, the mantel, and in the center a 
perfect bank of roses. 

She stood and looked around a moment. There 
near the door was the chair wdiere he had sat that 
last morning and said good-by to her. She patted the 
chair lovingly with her hand, and then passed to the 
bank in the middle of the room. She buried her 
tiny nose in one of the beautiful roses — bride roses, 
by the way — and smoothed the velvety leaves. 

“ What a beautiful bank it is,” she said to herself. 
“ It is somewhat like the bank Ray and I sat on last 
spring. I wonder would it matter if I sat on it now? 


death’s young. 


5 ^ 


It looks so soil and sweet, and I’m tired and lonely, 
like Ray always is. ” She pulled a chair to the side 
of the bank of roses, and mounting it sat on the top 
of the beautiful creamy flowers. She patted them 
with her one hand, for she still had his daisies with 
her, and then she stopped. The bank was not en- 
tirely covered with roses; there was a glass at one 
end. It was partly slipped down, and with her little 
white Angers she began to pull it further down. The 
room was very dark and the air so redolent with 
flowery perfume that it made her feel faint. At this 
minute she heard from the adjoining room the open- 
ing strains : 

Abide with me, 

Fast falls the evening tide. 

and soon she succeeded in getting the glass all the 
way down. Then she leaned over, and, in the dusky 
depths below, she saw Raymond Sorrel’s face, with 
every line of pain and sadness gone. In the other 
room the sweet, boyish voices still sang : 

Help of the helpless. 

Oh abide with me. 

The sad, tender, brown eyes were closed, and an 
expression of happy peace had replaced the yearning 
look. The strong hands were clasped over the 
breast. She stooped and placed her daisies on his 
hands. And then she reached over and put her soft, 
white hand against the dark, cold cheek. “Ray! 
Ray dear ! ” All the love and longing of the child’s 
soul were in those words. But the eyes that had 


52 


de:ath’s young. 


always had love for her in their depths remained 
closed. The strain of beautiful melody floated into 
the dark, flower-decked room : 

Where is Death’s stiug? 

Where grave thy victory ? 

I triumph still if thou 
Abide with me. 

Then it came to the poor child losing her first 
friend and lover; the presence of death. With her 
warm hand still against the dark, cold, dead cheek, 
she repeated his la.st words : “ Live so you may meet 
death as I shall meet it, willingly and gladly.” 


An ©asier l^ing. 


A ROMANCE OF THE PACIFIC. 


I-UELISHKD WITH REMEMBRANCES OK THE WASHINGTON POST’S AMATEUR 
WRITERS. 


IP 


E HERE in cloudy, murky America that day 
did not know that on that far-oif island of 
the Pacific, men and women w'ere waiting 
in the moonlight for a king. Above the waiting 
throng the two tall mountains w’ere garmented in the 
shadowy light which came flooding down the sides 
in soft, peaceful whiteness, where ages before the 
burning, glowing lava had rushed to the sea. The 
people but half felt the beauty of this scene, for all 
eyes were fixed on the dark w^aters of the ocean, 
where, phantom-like, a ship was fast approaching 
the moon-bathed shore. That ship was bringing the 
king to this, his sovereignty, with its fertile soil and 
Christian subjects. Nearer and nearer came the 
vessel, until the anxious-eyed throng could see the 
dark forms moving in the silver light. It came near, 
so near the sands that the crowd gave a sigh of 
alarm. Then it stopped suddenly and the dash of 
ocean waves came clearly through the air. The 
crowd grew denser and swayed toward the sea until 
the water touched the feet of the foremost. Figures 
came over the rail of the vessel and showed black 

53 


54 


AN EASTER KING. 


against the white side. Then the long boat that 
came from the vessel was the C3mosure of ever}’ eye. 
It struck the beach with a thud, and four men 
jumped quickly from it to the sand. Without a 
word spoken it backed off and, sailing back through 
the white light, left the four to face the crowd. The 
silence that but now had filled the place was broken. 
Many cries went up in the night air. 

“The Father is there! Welcome the Father!” 

“And welcome the King!” 

“The King!” 

And yet those so ready with their welcome did not 
know which was their King. Three youths had 
been chosen from the natives eight long years ago to 
be taken to America and educated, each one as be- 
fitted a king of even this tiny island in the southern 
sea. And now those three youths had returned, and 
one of them was to be the King — which one the 
natives were to decide. 

Thus every mind was busy as the figures came up, 
one a kingly figure, but which one? 

The Father, whom they had welcomed first and 
jubilantly, was a young priest when he had chris- 
tened these three boys and coaxed the natives to 
send them to that distant college, where they might 
grow in wisdom as they grew in body. He remem- 
bered, as a middle-aged man, he saw the crowd 
before him now, the throng that had chosen these 
three boys as the exiles, to leave their homes for a 
foreign land, but to return as candidates for a crown. 


AN EASTER KING. 


55 


And the three young men returned in thought 
to that night, and the people, cheering lustily, 
wondered what was to be the result. 

They formed two lines on the sands and the young 
men marched between them. The first walked with 
dignified step and lip that curled as he passed. In 
the scornful curves of that mouth, the natives, quick 
in their simplicity, read things unfitting a King; they 
let him pass without a word, and he felt and saw 
their displeasure. The next was small and slight in 
frame, with a face sweet and noble, but bearing the 
unmistakable signs of a broken constitution. Strong 
in body as animals, the}^ could but disapprove of this 
weak boy. The feelings were rapidly changing 
from expectancy to disappointment. Was the King, 
whom they had expected these eight long years, 
to be a proud, scornful mocker, or a weak invalid? 
The Father had played them false; they would have 
none of these. The murmurs were becoming dis- 
tinct and vengeful, when down the line the third 
young man passed. He had paused at the beginning 
of the line to salute the parents left behind long ago, 
but now he hastened with lighter steps, after the 
Father. The true Polynesian countenance was strik- 
ing in its beauty — the regular features, dark, blood- 
full complexion, fathomless eyes, now alight with a 
youthful delight at the home-coming. The young 
man was dressed in the native costume, in this differ- 
ing from his companions, and the scarlet cloak 
but half hid the suppleness of the figure. The mur- 


56 


AN KASTHR KING. 


murs ceased, and in their place a loud cheer broke 
forth: “hong live the King.” “Long live the 
Father. ” “ Long live the King.” The youth doffed 
his cap, the Father, far down the line, gave a sigh of ' 
thankfulness, the weak boy smiled radiantly, but the 
proud mocker curled his lip and strode proudly 
onward. So, in the white moonlight did the natives , 
choose their King — the King of Davis’ Island. 

II. 

And so the third young man became a king, and, 
vested with kingly powers, his nature strengthened, ^ 
losing some part of the gay lightness, but gaining a i 
young gravity that charmed. He was called Basil 
Leuse, for j^eai^s ago when the father was called 
upon to act as sponsor to these three, of which one 
was to be a king, his hitherto fertile brain could find 
no plain names suitable except to call each “king.” 

So from the Latin, Greek and Hebrew languages he 
chose words meaning king — Rex, Basileus and Ma- 
lach. 

In America where surnames are needed, the first ' 
and the last added “king,” but the afterward sue- j 
cessful one was called Basil Leuse. The Hebrew 
king, in his own weakness, felt fondest affection for 
the strong manline.ss of Basil Leuse, and ever in the 
days of absence from the little island had found the 
greatest comfort in the society of the patriotic young ' 
Polynesian. And now, in the days of honor, he was j 
the prime minister of the king, and, notwithstanding 


AN KASTER KING. 


57 


his weak constitution, he made a prime assistant. 
There existed no rancor between the two friends on 
account of the success of the one and the failure of 
the other, for, besides the unselfish love of the pre- 
mier for his stronger friend, a selfish reason — the 
knowledge of the difficulty of ruling in his own weak 
health — led the young man to rejoice in his friend’s 
elevation. 

And so, under the care of these two, the little 
island was fast entering a stage of unexpected pros- 
perit5^ The natives had ever been a peaceful race ; 
too peaceful, in fact ; but now, under the rule of Basil 
Leuse, they were awakening to a sense of the power 
of men. The bank, v/here the ship had landed the 
king on that first night, was made into a wharf, which 
faced a fine harbor with broad gateway to the sea. 
The water side was being lined with houses, hand- 
somely built of white stone from the island quarries, 
and modeled after the American plan. A school- 
house had been built, where, daily, the father dis- 
pen.sed knowledge to the children of the island. The 
valleys were being cultivated assiduously by the 
natives, and already the island was being somewhat 
noticed by trading vessels. Basil Leuse, as king, 
was cheered and blessed by the people, and the 
father, as fatherly priest, blessed the people and con- 
gratulated himself. 

And well might he be congratulated, for, aside 
from the respect of the people, the love of woman 
had come into his life and brightened it. During the 


58 


AN EASTER KING. 


year previous to the arrival of the king, the father’s 
sister, a widow, had died, leaving a girl of seventeen 
to the care of the priest. And he, after burying his 
sister in America, had brought the girl with him “ for 
a year or two.” But Marian Delhart, with her glad, 
bright ways, covering all her thoughtfulness and 
kindness, had grown into the father’s life as the 
mountains and the people, and he, had grown into 
hers, so now there was no reference made to that 
parting which neither could bear. And since the 
king had come with his American youth and Ameri- 
can knowledge and American polish, a more home- 
like light had been shed about the island, and she in 
her simplicity thought that it was a greater regard 
for the dead volcanoes which had sprung up in her 
heart. And he? — well, he, who would not let all 
American culture turn his heart from his Pacific 
i.sland, embraced in affection for this one girl all he 
had left in the States and all that he hoped was ever 
to be in his life. 

Such was the situation when an event, which Basil 
Leuse had dreaded with all his nature, occurred. 
The water supply of the island gave out. Davis 
Island had always been deficient in this necessary 
liquid, but never before had this happened. The 
water of the ocean had lost sufficient of its saline 
properties in traveling throug'i the earth for agri- 
cultural purposes, but was still too salty to 
drink. And this being soon discovered, the peo- 
ple were forced to turn to sea water. But the proc- 


AN EASTKR KING. 


59 


ess of changing the sea water to fresh was so diffi- 
cult to the natives that they soon began to despair. 
Basil lycuse dispatche'd a ship to America for those 
those things which, from his student days, he knew to 
be necessary, but meanwhile the despair increased. 
Basil keuse himself, after racking every fertile brain 
in the island, discovered that there could be no aid 
before the ship returned. Meantime Marian Del- 
hart, with her bright, soft ways, had a charm over 
the man which dispelled even his deep anxiety, 
and, knowing this, the king cast himself into her 
society continually. And soon the maid knew, as 
well as he, that the attraction was not that for the 
volcanoes, grand as they were, but for a fellow- 
creature. 

The inhabitants of Easter Island, as their need of 
water grew greater, felt a hate for the young king, 
who, in this, his first love, seemed to forget the 
thousands of people whom God or the father had 
placed in his care. 

One night as the young king sat in a thoughtful 
silence in his palace that had been erected since his 
accession, a large delegation of the natives came to 
him, and with them, in that dangerous place, the 
background, came the defeated candidate for king- 
ship, Rex. An old man who had held the young 
king in his arms long years ago, spoke first. 

‘‘Basil Leuse,”he said, with some fatherly anxiety 
in his tone, “we have come to you to-night to re- 
monstrate with you. We knovv you are young; 


6o 


AN EASTER KING. 


many of us, twenty years ago, when you were still 
an infant, were passing throngli the adventures that 
all 3^outh has. But we were hot kings, as 3'ou are 
now, and we had no treason mingled with our court- 
ing. You need not frown, oh, Basil Leuse, for when 
3^ou play with the affections of a foreign woman — 
you, our king, in the time of our greatest distress — 
does that not seem like treason?” 

Basil Leuse had stood beyond the light of the lamp 
while the old man was speaking. Now he came for- 
ward, and, drawing up with true kingly grace, spoke : 

“Yes, I am 3mur king, and never before has one 
of you dared to say ‘ treason ’ to me. As it is your 
time — yes, and mine, too — of great distress, I can 
forgive 3^11. But let no other word be said of treason 
in me. Is it treason that I love a woman, though 
she be not of our race? Have not other countries 
kings and queens, and can not a foreigner rule with 
as good a grace as an3' of you? And yet she is not 
a foreigner. Does she not love our island as we love 
it? Is she not as interested in all that happens here 
as you yourselves? Ay, and is she not suffering what 
you suffer, and bearing it more peacefulh' than you? 
And yet you call this treason — to love her? ” 

The delegation had listened in silence while the 
young king defended his love, while his flashing- 
eyes and proud mien foreswore defending. But when, 
with scorn in his handsome 3-oung face, he chal- 
lenged them, another Polynesian spoke forth ; 

“Is it not treason to hope to make her queen of 


AN EASTER KING. 


6 


US, of US with daughters of our own, more fit for 
ruling us? Let her assist us in this time of distress — 
let her find us water — and we will own her queen.” 

“Water ! Aye, let her find us water ! ’’-the throng 
cried, and “Water! Water!” came echoing back. 

The king strode forth with blazing face. “She 
shall get >ou water,” he cried, “Go!” and the 
people, still murmuring “Water,” went. 

III. 

With the sun next morning came that great anni- 
versary, Easter, and, notwithstanding their great 
distress, the honest, religious natives thronged to 
mass. The little church, with its sweet flower 
scents and glowing candles, cast a calm over the 
heavy hearts ; when the father in his priestly robes 
and with his kind, benevolent face, petitioned before 
the flowery altar for water, each man and woman 
grew hopeful. Basil Leuse was not seen at church, 
although far back in the choir gallery, his kingly 
figure was hidden by the shadows. When the mass 
was finished and the father was going among the 
people with his blessings and cheering words, Basil 
Leuse crept down, and, passing reverently before the 
altar, slipped into the sacristy. Thence he passed 
out through the white burial grounds to the little 
cottage of the priest. As he came near he saw her 
standing at the green-shaded door, the golden light 
shining on her head. She came to him with her hat 
swinging by its long ribbon to her arm. 


62 


AN EASTER KING. 


“The Lord is risen,” she said, and “ He is risen, 
indeed,” he responded, and they stood there hand 
in hand at the gateway. Then he spoke. “Shall 
we walk?” he said. And, nodding her bright head, 
she answered, “Yes.” And so the two through the 
sunlight walked up the mountain side, and the sum- 
mit, though far away even in that light, seemed near 
destination to the young feet. At last Marian turned 
toward the right, seeking for new sights, and the 
king followed willingly. They entered a dense 
grove of trees, with difficulty making way through 
the heavy undergrowth. But the maiden wandered 
on, led by some guardian fate, until at last, breaking 
through the brush, she stood in a wide, open space 
surrounded on all sides by thick trees and growths 
that shut it off from the rest of the world. And 
there, in solitude rearing its magnificent head, stood 
a huge statue forty feet high and twelve wide. 
From the stone of the island it had been cut, but the 
face had been chiseled into beauty with a skill that 
was marvelous. It was the figure of a man, with a 
long robe, majestic in his height and in the beauty 
of face that belonged to the One who had risen that 
day. 

Basil Leuse and Marian Delhart gazed on the 
grand features with awe and wonder. Many statues, 
the result of prehistoric labor, had been discovered 
on the island, the majority in the craters of the dead 
volcanoes, but none possessed the size nor the beauty 
of this. The two approached it reverently and ex- 


AN EASTER KING. 


63 


amining saw that even the bare feet and the folds of 
the gown were perfect. And the likeness to what 
one imagines the risen Christ to be, became more 
apparent. 

They dared not speak ; it seemed that to break the 
silence that surrounded and had surrounded for ages 
this beautiful statue would be sinful. Basil Leuse 
placed his hand on the white stone ; it was cold as 
ice and clamni}’’, leaving his hands damp from the 
touch. He looked at the girl, and she read his eyes. 

“Basil,” she cried, almost hoarsel}^, “do you 
think ” 

“I know, ” he said. 

In this land where rain had not fallen for days, 
those drops could not come save from below. Into 
the king’s eyes dawned a hopeful light. The girl 
covered her face. “I am so glad,” she whispered, 
and leaned against the statue regardless of the damp- 
ness. And as she leaned, there came a sound — a 
creaking, breaking sound — and she drew hurriedly 
away. In the side of the .statue appeared a long, 
straight crack. The King hastily, eagerly pressed 
against it, pressed with all his young strength. The 
crack widened and .«;pread ; a la.st press and a piece 
of the statue, about three feet square, flew in like a 
door. And standing there hand in hand, the two 
looked in and saw a wide opening into the earth, 
filled with the sound, the peaceful, happy, welcome 
sound, of bubbling water. 

3 HEX 


64 


AN EASTER KING. 


IV. 

When the people came with loud rejoicings and 
saw the statue in its magnificence and that well of 
pure, bright, tasteless water beneath, they fell in 
their simple joy upon their knees and praised and 
thanked Him who had risen that day. And to them 
it all seemed that the figure, glorious in its grand 
beauty, was far more like Him than the statue that 
the lather had brought from America and placed in 
the little church down below. The natives accepted 
the discovery of the spring as an answer to their 
Easter prayer, but the king, while believing that, 
sought for historical facts. It was very probable 
that in those far off days when other men and beliefs 
ruled the island, this spring had been a sacred one, 
protected from the irreverent by the secret door in 
the statue. This had been fastened by some me- 
chanical spring which had lost its power as it grew 
older. Thus he accounted for the deftE^-hidden 
door, but he could but render thanks unto the ever- 
caring Deity. The natives called the statue the 
Risen Christ, and the spring, if so large a body can 
be called a spring, the Spring of Life. It had come 
to them in their greatest need and seemed inexhaust- 
ibly supplied with the pure water.. 

And so Marian Delhart had aided the discovery of 
the spring and the islanders blessed and cheered her 
with their might and requested Basil Eeuse to make 
her queen. And, as if to reward the faith of the 


AN KASTKR KING. 65 

natives, the ship returned with all the necessaries for 
removing the saline parts from the ocean water. 

So now, on an evening brightened by a moon as 
silver as on the night of the coming of the King, 
Marian Delhart became queen, crowned and married 
at the same time, by the father of the island, in the 
woodland church of the Risen Christ. And by the 
request of the king and concurrence of the natives, 
the island itself was rechristened in honor of the 
Easter Queen, the Easter Spring, the Easter Christ — 
it was named East- r Island. 


A Quiver of Arrows. 


USED ON LIFE’S STAGE. 


HEN EVERYBODY who was anybody, went 



away last summer, we floundered patiently 
thro’ the inexorable house-cleaning, and 


then departed for the mountains. We went to a 
charming hotel, with miniature Matterhorns on every 
side, and a broad, beautiful river winding through the 
valley at our feet. Mother and I were soon into all 
the quiet pleasures of the place. We used to walk 
every morning to the summit of some mountain, and 
have glorious times in the cool air. A regular party 
took these constitutionals every day ; we dubbed 
ourselves ‘‘The World Wonder Mountain Climbers, ” 
and became celebrated as such through the country- 


side. 


An important member of the club was a lady, Mrs. 
Fordon by name. I saw nothing unusual about her, 
but the ladies were intensely interested in her. She 
was a small woman, about forty, I suppose, but still 
pretty and young looking. She was quite attractive 
and had fitful humors, but we girls could see nothing 
in this to arouse such evident curiosity. 

At last, it was admitted by the elder members that 
it was her history that attracted them. They said 
her life had been a sad one, and every lady in the 
hotel would adopt a tender soothing tone when speak- 


66 


A QUIVER OF ARROWS. 


67 


ing to her, with hopes, I believe, of coaxing a con- 
fidence. Further than the statement of its pathos, 
the reserved Mrs. Fordon would not go, so all the 
ladies could do was to surmise. And surmise they 
did, believing it to be either lunacy in the family or 
love. 

After conversing with her, I decided that it was 
the latter. She professed to be very fond of read- 
ing, yet sentimental novels satisfied her literary hun- 
ger. She delighted in Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and 
used to quote from “Men, Women and Emotions” 
continually. You can see from this that I did not 
admire the class of subjects she selected, but I shall 
not treat her less kindly on that account. 

Well, one morning we walked over to the post- 
office — we World Wonder Mountain Climbers. The 
postoffice is combined with a variety store, where 
everything can be found — from lemon drops, cocoa- 
nut cakes and huge chocolate caramels, to wide- 
brimmed straw hats and, calicoes and ginghams of 
the most astonishing shades. 

Here every member of our party received a letter. 
Mine was from Dick Steward, saying he was com- 
ing up for a week or so. Mrs. Fordon told us the 
contents of hers, in as cool and easy a manner as 
possible, but it was confounding to us. She told us 
that the letter announced the coming of her two 
daughters. This was the first time she had men- 
tioned them; we had not known that they even ex- 
isted until that moment. 


68 


A QUIVER OF ARROWS. 


She said that they had been spending some years 
in the South, and were now coming to her for the 
rest of the summer. We girls were astonished, but 
delighted, for we felt that daughters of such a his- 
toric woman would have histories of their own which 
we might ponder over. We inquired anxiously 
when they were coming, and found that they would 
arrive in about a week. She seemed to take the 
news veiy philosophically — so philosophically in 
fact, that the ladies felt it necessary to follow her 
example. 

When the week was up and the morning dawned 
on which the two daughters and Mr. Steward were 
to arrive, everybody in the hotel flocked to the 
veranda. The club even postponed the constitutional, 
so we might be present at the arrival, for new faces 
were a rarity at the hotel. The train seemed late to 
us that day, for the ladies were too eager to even 
discuss the emotions with Mrs. Fordon. They were 
all prophetically sure that the mysteriously sad his- 
tory would be explained. I believe they expected 
to see a horribly deformed creature or an idiotic one, 
or maybe two of either kind. 

Presently, a cloud of dust came up the road, an- 
nouncing the arrival of the coach. It drew up in 
front of the steps and Mrs. Fordon, mother and I 
went down to it. Mr. Steward stepped out first and 
gallantly assisted two — the two girls to alight. 

And then we saw them. They were neither idiotic 
nor deformed nor even awkward, but sailed to their 


A QUIVER OE ARROWS. 


69 


mother with dignity but slight affection. They were 
both pretty, the younger, rosy and dark, the elder 
white and golden. They kissed their mother with a 
cool, social little sound, and then together went into 
the house. Even as I turned to shake hands with 
Dick Steward, I heard the runnii g fire of comments, 
as severe and as gentle as women’s comments can be. 
I imagine they dealt with them rather gently because 
they expected so much from them. Each lady had 
woven a romantic tale about the slender form of 
Mrs. Fordon, and each inwardly hoped that the girls 
would verify it. 

Dick received much attention as a newcomer until 
luncheon time, then he surrendered his place, for the 
two girls at length appeared. I was nearest the door 
as Mrs. Fordon came out, so she turned immediately 
to me. 

“Miss Felton,’’ she said, “Eet me introduce to 
you, my daughters. Miss Harding and Miss May 
Harding. ’’ 

The secret was out! She had been married twice, 
and that was the reason of the sadness. I was so 
amazed that it was with difficulty that I maintained 
my composure — customary, you know. After they 
had been introduced to all, I sought them out and sat 
with them. They said the journey had been rather 
fatiguing, and that the weather was beautiful and the 
place lovely. The conversation was not at all 
original, but I was probably as much to blame as 
they. 


70 


A QUIVKR OF ARROWS. 


With a discernment really unusual in me, I saw that 
they had perceived the surprise of the ladies and 
were rather uncomfortable, so I offered to show them 
the details of the beauty of the place. They 
accepted the offer pleasantly, and so with Dick 
Steward we sauntered around. And immediately 
they displayed their character. 

The elder girl, Celia, proved to be very sweet, but 
equally shallow. When you sought beneath the sur- 
face, it was like finding yourself confronted with an 
implacable wall, all the more disappointing, because 
you felt that beyond it, there was nothing. She said 
the scenery was very pretty, but this sounded so 
unreal, the admiration was so momentary after the 
rapt attention awarded by her sister and Mr. Stew- 
ard. For May Harding was quite different from the 
other girl, having a deeper nature and deeper thoughts 
and a greater knowledge of things and the world. 
The elder Miss Harding has grown up in the world 
as though outside it, and had learned nothing from 
whatever she had seen of human nature. The 
younger girl was decided in actions and opinions, but 
it was a pleasing decision after the variableness of 
her sister. 

You can see from this description of them that we 
became very well acquainted — before the week was 
out we became very good friends. We found that 
their mother had been married twice and we supposed 
the first husband was dead. As we noticed the three 
together, mother and daughters, we could not but 


A QUIVER OE ARROWS. 71 

perceive what a queer family they formed : Mrs. 
Fordon with her affection for the emotions, the two 
girls — Celia, sillily romantic, May, straightforward 
and practical. 

And yet they had both early fallen into the one 
general rut. They confided in me one day a great 
secret, told with their mother’s belief in love; they 
they were both engaged to be married. Of course, I 
was immediately interested and clamored for de- 
scriptions. Celia’s affianced proved to be a man 
twice her age, but she exclaimed enthusiastically 
about the beauty of his features and the habitual 
melancholy of his nature. From her description I 
was sure he was just the man to affect such a girl, a 
man with something in his life and his heart that 
appealed to the romantic. Maj^ however, was en- 
gaged to a man just twenty-one, and she declared 
him as practical as herself. They were both very 
much in love, and I was in the stage to appreciate 
such conversations. 

Well, about two weeks after the girls’ arrival. May 
came to me one morning with a letter. It was 
written in a strong, manly hand, and said that her 
affianced, Mr. Herbert, was coming to see her and 
meet her mother. It was a very straightforward 
letter and a loving one. May was, of course, de- 
lighted, Celia was happier at seeing someone from 
the North where he was, and Mrs. Fordon seemed 
anxious to meet the lover. 

He arrived the next morning and seemed practi- 


72 


A QUIVER OF ARROWS. 


call}^ jubilant at seeing May again. I was standing 
beside Mrs. Fordon when he was introduced to her 
and saw the anxious light in his eyes — as though he 
were hoping he would please her. I think he suc- 
ceeded for she gave him a very sweet smile and let 
him wander olf into the mountains with Ma}^ 

It grew monotonous to see them always together, 
courting, however practical the two persons may be , 
is not always interesting, so we decided to have an 
entertainment to relieve the atmosphere. A very 
nice entertainment was decided upon, and one of the 
numbers was a minuet. May and Mr. Herbert, Celia 
and Mr. Corrill, Dick Steward and myself and an- 
other couple from the hotel, were to dance it. We 
had a glorious time in preparing it and the rehearsals 
were most amusing. At one of them, a guest took 
our portraits ; here is the one of May and Mr. Her- 
bert. Isn’t it charming? and aren’t they nice look- 
ing? 

Well, the night of the entertainment arrived and 
we were all in a flutter of excitement. It was an 
important evening to us three girls ; Mr. Steward — 
he was Mr. to me then — and I were at an interesting 
stage of our “friendship;” Mr. Herbert, Sr., was 
coming to con.snlt with Mrs. Fordon whom he had 
never met, concerning an early marriage ; and Celia’s 
lover was coming in person to see her. His name 
was Harri.s — I do not think I ever heard his first 
name, as Celia had a pretty pet name of her own for 
him. 


A QUIVER OE ARROWS. 


73 


When the minuet was announced, the stage was 
darkened until only a laint rosy glow spread around. 
And then we glided out. They said afterward that 
it was very beautiful, and I would confess that I be- 
lieve it if it didn’t betray conceit. The men, you 
know, had on white silk Continental suits, and our 
dresses, of real old-fashioned silk and laces, were 
very graceful, dainty and quaint. 

May and Mr. Herbert were blissful ; and I saw a 
great light spring into Celia’s face when our dance 
was nearly over. Following the direction of her 
eyes, I saw a tall man at the further end of the room, 
who had just arrived, so I understood it. 

Well, we were recalled again by perfectly thun- 
derous applause, and again went thro’ all the pretty, 
fantastic steps. Then we hurried back to the dress- 
ing room and begged Mrs. Fordon, who was officiat- 
ing there, to permit us to remain in our gowns. And 
so, soon eight old-fashioned knights and ladies 
joined the gay, summer crowd. Mrs. Fordon retired 
to her private parlor and requested that the girls 
should bring the gentlemen to her. But those two 
fooli.sh maidens desired to have the gentlemen alone 
for a while, so while they promenaded on the ve- 
randa, I was dispatched to bear the word “patience” 
to the mother. 

Notwithstanding Mr. Steward, I went willingly, for 
I was rather anxious to see how Mrs. Fordon received 
these happenings. She smiled very sweetly at the 
postponement, and said that she had passed thro’ 
it all herself. It seemed rather pathetic to me that 


74 


A QUIVER OF ARROWS. 


this woman, still young, still pretty, should be here 
alone in the brightly lighted room, while downstairs, 
her daughters had forgotten her in their lovers. And 
even as I reflected thus, the door was thrown open 
and a man with a light overcoat on his arm entered. 

“Ah, Marie,’’ he said, “I have been seeking you 
this last hour; I arrived at the hotel about half- 
past nine. You must have hidden yourself.” I 
knew immediately tliat it was her husband, and when 
I saw the white, constrained face she turned toward 
him, I felt that here was the turning point of the sad 
history. She introduced him and he bowed to me 
with easy courtesy; then he conversed with his wife, 
the wife who sat facing him, with a face whose cov- 
ered horror frightened me. He talked of the 
weather, of the latest news in the city, but no word 
of affection passed between them. 

Soon, we heard a laugh in the corridor — a high 
and a low one — and then steps approaching the 
room. The door was opened and May came in, the 
dark face tinted with love’s own pink. She seemed 
amazed at sight of the man there ; he made a move- 
ment to kiss her brow, but she drew away with but 
slightly repressed repulsion. Then Mr. Herbert 
followed, and behind him a man with a face, kind, 
but deeply wrinkled. Mr. Herbert took the older 
man by the hand and drew him forward. 

“Mrs. Fordon, my father,” he said. And they 
each gave a little scream — this old-faced man and 
this pretty woman, and she buried her face in her 
hands, and gasped. 


A QUIVBR OF ARROWS. 


75 


Henry Morisell.” 

At that moment Celia, in her dainty, old-fashioned 
gown, slipped into the circle, with a great blindness 
in her eyes. She did not seem to notice the hidden 
face. 

“Mother, dear,” she said, “let me present Mr. 
Harris, my — lover.” It was said with a timid, be- 
seeching inflexion, and the woman looked up to see 
the face — the beautiful, melancholy face of Celia’s 
lover. And then she retreated to the sofa and sank 
down beside the man who was her husband. But 
Mr. Harris turned from the girl beside him, to the 
wall. The two girls stood there in dismay ; Mr. 
Herbert was amazed. The two daughters went to 
the woman rocking herself there on the sofa. 

“Mother, mother!” vSaid May, in an agonized 
voice, “what is the matter?” 

And the woman, displaying a face white and old 
from these few moments, said: “The matter! Oh, 
God!” and, pointing to those two elderly men, 
“ They are my husbands !” 

All the sad history came out that night, a stranger 
one than any of us had dreamed. Two of the ladies 
watched by her bedside till dawn, and to them she 
told her tale. 

“I wish I were dead,” she moaned; “dead! All 
the troubles that I have brought to them. To marry 
four times and have four husbands living ! Harris 
was the first,” she said, “but he used to travel, and 
leave me alone at home ; I was young and I did not 


76 


A QUIVKR OR ARROWS. 


like the life, so I separated from him. He went 
abroad immediately after, and I did not know that 
he had returned. I married Henry Morisell just the 
next year, but he soon grew tired of me and he 
began to drink. So we two were divorced, and 
he married Miss Herbert, taking her name, although 
until now I never discovered that. Then I wan 
dered about until I met Edwin Harding, and I loved 
him. But after six years he went West to “find 
a bonanza for the girls,’’ as he said. He remained 
away a long, long, desolate time, and meanwhile 
John Fordon came. He was rich, so rich; he 
coaxed me to separate from Edwin, my children’s 
father, on the ground of desertion. Separate I did, 
and all the while Edwin, poor Edwin, was working to 
get money for me. And now they have all come 
back, for a letter from Edwin came to-day, full of re- 
proaches, reproaches, reproaches ! They come now 
with my little daughter loving the son of one, and 
my first daughter loving the other — loving my 
husband. And I, Heaven help me,’’ she cried, “I 
am in love with a fifth !’’ 

Then she fell back unconscious ; the two girls, 
still in the pretty, old-fashioned gov/ns, came in to 
look at her. And May, the pretty, practical, 
straightforward May, wept — wept and forgave her, 
probably because she was not entirely cut off from 
ner love. But Celia, the other daughter, her first 
daughter, her shallow daughter, gazed at her with 
cold, cruel, unrelenting eyes, and then went away 
with the man she loved — her mother’s husband. 


^iea’s ^yes. 


DEDICATED TO CONTESSINA DE VECCHJ, AS AN EVIDENCE OF INTERNATIONAL 
RESPECT AND PERSONAL AFFECTION. 



N THE GREAT isolated rock that over- 


looked Bellin2;ona, the far Switicer town, 


stood the Gastello Grande. Many happy 
hearts had been inclosed in the old days of glory, 
but now, weary hearts beat dully there behind the 
gloomy walls. From a palace of grandeur it had 
descended to an armory and prison, where convicts 
were sent and forgotten — where visitors seldom 
came, and seldom left. 

The gaolers were slow men, whose blood never 
stirred, even at sight of the glorious mountains of 
the Alps; who led quiet lives and reared children to 
the same ideas that they themselves held. It was 
never thought strange now that the castle should 
figure as a frowning fortress, and the children grow- 
ing up in freedom, gave no thought to the wretches 
there. The attraction that once existed at the Gas- 
tello — even the sight of the somberly clad men, who 
once in twenty- four hours breathed the light of 
God’s day, h d become uninteresting. 

And they, poor fellows, in their yearning for some- 
thing new, something strange, missed the bright 
young faces that had been wont to peep thro’ the 
bars of the gate. There was one man there, who 
was himself not old, who longed with all the power 


77 


78 


RICA’S KYKS. 


of a nature once so strong, for a glimpse of the life 
apart from his. He had been in the prison, ten, long 
dreary years — years that had sapped the color from 
his hair, his cheeks, and had left only his eyes and 
his memory bright and keen for use. 

Every evening in his little, dark cell, his memory 
did sharp work. He lived again and again that 
wretched night, when his nature had broken bounds, 
when with passion, anger and love, he had gone mad 
and struck him, Rica’s other lover. He remembered 
it all, even to the wild delight when the deed was 
done, then the wilder fear of Rica. He remembered 
how she had looked when she came to him — to the7n, 
with her face white with anger and pain and de- 
spair — when she faced him with those eyes of hers, 
beautiful even with that dreadful light. Ah, yes ; 
he had remembered it all these long desolate years — 
had heard over and over again the words she had 
spoken over his unconscious body — dead, they both 
thought. 

She had not dreamed then, she did not dream now, 
and might never dream, how much he loved her. 
She had always said he had loved her for her eyes 
only, and not for what made up herself. And he 
had loved her eyes, such beautiful eyes they were, 
large and deep and hazel and true — as his mother’s. 

Yet it was all very right that he, who had done that 
thing, should lose Rica. And as he reflected over 
that, the whole truth came to him. All the prison 
life and hardships would have been as nothing, had 


Rica’s kyes. 


79 


Rica been truly his. She was probably married 
now, to him. He found that much of that strong 
feeling that he had held against him was gone — dead 
as his life was — and all that remained in his soul was 
his love for Rica. And she would never know all 
she had been to him, sinner though he was — unless 
he should escape ! Escape ! 

Years ago he had given up that idea, but now 
when the children dropped out of his life and there 
was no one to think of but Rica, hope grew up. He 
watched. And now with those reawakened eyes, he 
found the gaolers careless. The prisoners, all older 
and even more hopeless than himself, had accepted 
this life as inevitable, and not for years and years 
had an escape been attempted. 

He noticed the fastening of the gate in the court 
yard and with his old, boyish ingenuity, fancied him- 
self able to overcome that. He busied himself night 
and day over a scheme of escape. He grew paler 
and thinner from loss of sleep, but in his eyes were 
visions of Rica and in his ears the sound of her 
voice. 

Among these meditations. Palm Sunday ap- 
proached and passed and yet he had decided upon 
no plan. The evening before Holy Thursday came, 
and the man was almost hopeless. He was sitting in 
gloomy thought in his cell that night, when his 
gaoler came in for the dishes from his dinner. He 
turned to the man for the sight of a face in the dark 


room. 


8o 


RICA’S EYKS. 


What day is it, Jacques?” he asked in a voice 
full of despair. 

‘‘To-morrow is Holy Thursday,” said the man, 
brusquely, and with a deep frown. At that moment 
the prisoner felt that there was hate in his heart for 
the goaler; he had believed himself too old for such 
passionate feeling, and it encouraged him when it 
came. He rose from his chair in the torrent of his 
feeling and saw there, the door open. He gave a 
gasp of hope, then — 

“Why are you so .surly to-night?” he asked, his 
voice very calm. 

“All the others are away at midnight mass,” he 
answered, scowling, “only the sentinel and I were 
ordered to stay,” and he made a royal oath. 

Then he looked quickly at the prisoner, seeing 
he had said too much. But it was too late. The 
other man had sprung to the door and was out in a 
second ; then he had closed the door and the goaler 
was fastened within by a spring catch. 

The man, pa.ssing down the corridor, went out of 
another door, which, in his impatient spleen, the 
gaoler had left unlocked. The courtyard was almost 
deserted. The sentinel stood at the farther end, 
listening to the solemn liturgy that was wafted up 
from the church below. The man, in a frenzy of 
excitement, hope and fear, tore open the gate ; he 
did not know how it was done, but the ancient 
fastening responded to his touch. 

He closed the gate after him that the guard might 


RICA’S EYES. 


8l 


not sooner discover his escape. Then he fled down 
the narrow pathway, around by the foot of the great 
rock. Fear and the delight of liberty winging his 
feet, he hurried down a road to the river. He had 
remembered the blue-watered Ticini over which he 
had passed on his way to his long captivity. In the 
faint starlight he saw it now, but the deep stream 
did not tempt him now as it had then. He crossed 
the river by one of the arched bridges and hurried 
down the road to Locarno. Chill winds blew him 
into strength ; day came and at length he saw Lake 
Maggiore shining in the light of the morning sun. 
He began to feel the length of the journey. Ten 
years of quiet had not improved his pedestrian 
powers and he felt this and feared. Perhaps Rica 
might never know ; and he might never see those 
beautiful eyes again. 

With this thought he quickened his lagging steps 
and walked far into the day. At eventide he 
reached Intra, far down on the lake. The quiet, 
peaceful village brought a calm to the man’s heart ; 
the little home like cottages and the sight of those 
happy, well-to-do free people touched his soul. 

He paused at one small cottage, just like the rest, 
save that in the neat garden, a child was playing, a 
child with Rica’s eyes. He called the child to him, 
and, touched unconsciously by that tired voice, she 
came and laid her liand against his knee. Then, 
seeing tlie wanness of that strange face, she, child- 
like, called her mother. In her free, happy life, the 


82 


RICA’S EYE:s. 


young peasant-mother had pity for the lonely man 
and took him in. So the escaped convict rested in 
the little white cottage until daybreak. 

Refreshed and supplied with a stock from the 
peasant’s simple larder, he started out again on his 
journey to Rica. All the day he traveled westward, 
until he came to Piello, just a day’s journey from 
Mt. Cenis and Rica. Here he rested in peace, for 
he was beyond the reach of his former captors, and 
even this one taste of freedom could not give him 
strength unceasing. 

The next morning he started out again, while the 
day and his spirits were fresh. He felt a strange 
delight rise in him ; he began to see familiar spots 
and retreats with joy, many adventures of ten long 
years ago, when he was young and with Rica. He 
smiled over them now — over all those old-time 
fancies and the old-time youthful assurance. 

Even with the smile, he recognized how prison 
life had changed him. From the hopeful, passionate 
boy, whose hand was ever ready, too ready, to protect 
his own honor and his loved ones, he had changed 
into the hopeless man, with feelings all dead save 
that one love of his youth, and buried, leaving 
him the shrould only, of calm despair; a man who 
now felt an almost childish delight in the freedom 
and the nearness of Rica, which before had been 
worth his life to him. 

His thoughts in this old channel reverted to that 
other man on account of whom he had lost Rica. 


RICA’S EYES. 


83 


He was not dead, for it was he whose influence had 
sent his attacker to the Gastello Grande. Most prob- 
ably he was married now to the innocent cause of all 
these years of misery. And thinking of this, the 
.man unwittingly slackened his pace with saddened, 
hanging head. 

Therefore, it was about dark when he reached Mt. 
Cenis, but still the sight of the dark mountain, loom- 
ing above him in the dusk, strengthened him. As 
he made his way up the old familiar path a feeling 
of desolation held him. A sad, gray-haired man, he 
was returning to the brilliant beauty he had loved in 
his youth. Could Rica, with the loveliness and 
sprightliness that had characterized her, care how he 
had suffered and thought and loved? Or would she, 
with her Italian nature so akin to his Switzer char- 
acter, recognize herself as ihe angel that had guided 
him on? 

He had advanced far up the mountain, but his 
strength was fast fading awa}^ It had almost been 
better to have remained in the Gastello and died 
there, than to return and live here, with Rica married 
and uncaring. He was bringing back a broken con- 
stitution, doubly broken by the exertions he had 
made to reach her. Pure of soul, as she bad always 
been, how could she bear to look with those beau- 
tiful eyes on him, with the memory of that sin? He 
should not have returned, for he knew that if he saw 
Rica happy with him, the old fiery, passionate nature 
would burst forth — the nature that now seemed so 


84 


RICA’S EYKS. 


dead within him — and he would wish the blow had 
carried death. 

The man was stumbling wearily, drearily, along; 
he saw again the white, angry face, with the great 
beautiful eyes, then he fell face downward. There, 
was a rushing, hurling, deathful sound that drowned 
her voice — Rica’s eyes, then darkness. 

vf# 

•X' 

The year after the man had been sentenced to the 
Gastello Grande, an Englishman, named Fell, was 
granted a permit to erect over Mt. Cenis, a railway. 
And this had been done, wonderful as it had seemed, 
and trains were running quite regularly now. A train 
was returning that night from the summit and the 
lake and the village where Rica had lived. 

When the engineer felt the jolt and heard the sick- 
ening sound, he brought the train to a standstill. 
And then they brought the poor, broken, bruised body 
from beneath the car, and laid it on the green grass. 
The strangely wan face had already lost a few of 
the bitter lines ; death’s hand is ever coolly calm and 
soothing. Faint breaths crept through the lips, red 
now as they had not been in life. 

They carried him further up the slope of the 
mountain to the convent, there where the glorious 
Easter hymn came flooding out on the night air. 
They laid him on the soft sod of the courtyard while 
they called the sisters. And among the others came 
one, whose gentle step seemed to reach the man so 
close to the grave. He opened his eyes, the glad 


RICA’S KYES. 85 

light Sprang into them ; a warm red tinge came into 
the dark cheeks. 

Rica ! ” he cried. 

And the sister, the nun, knelt by his side and 
looked into his eyes with love in her own. 

“ I have come to you, Rica,” he said, with some- 
thing of his old, boyish intensity in his voice, “to 
tell you — how — I — loved you ! How I — had had — 
you — with me — all these years — in prison. I — can 
not say — it — now — Rica, because it hurts me — so, but 
— you will know it — now — Rica?” The light was 
fading from his eyes, the deep despair was dearken- 
ing them again. 

“You are — not married — Rica? Did he — the 
wretch — leave you? Why are — you here?” 

In answer to that heart-aching voice, the woman 
spoke now for the first time, her voice trinkling with 
tears. 

“Why am I here? Because I love you ! ” 

There flashed across the man’s face — the haggard, 
noble. Southern face — a radiant light, because he 
saw those ten long, hopele.ss, desolate years made 
glorious by her smile, her love. 

“You — do not — frown — on me, Rica ; those eyes — 
those beautiful eyes — that I have loved — those beau- 
tiful eyes — Rica ” 

He died. 




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• • 


S AN APPENDIX to this series of short 
stories, a combination has been added, a 
^ combination that will prove interesting to 
those who desire to gain business advantages, and 
bits of philosophy in the same teaspoonful of sugar. 

To explain in the fairy-tale st3de : Once upon a 
time, a group of our immortals were gathered near 
the gates of the Elysian fields, and were peeping 
through the bars and describing the scenes they saw, 
in words that the sight of the earth recalled to their 
lips. By chance, a mischievous sprite, titled Breeze, 
overheard their conversation, and slipping his tiny 
self through the bars, bore it down to the earth and 
into the writer’s ears. And she has condensed this 
conversation into the following pages, with this 
stipulation: that those, hereafter, entering the Elysian 
fields, shall not recount the trick of the little sprite 
and gain for him the wrath of gods. 


“ Love’s arrow is tipped with a jewel, 

And shot from a Silver String.” — W h-lis. 

Therefore, fair damsels of Washington, search for the 
Je.vel that will best grace Cupid’s dart. You will 
tind none so brilliant as those at 

1R. Ibarris anb Coinpanv’, 

Seventh and D, N. W 

Who make a specialty of j Q ^ g 


T. JARVIS, 

Confectioner anb Caterer, 

Believes that, as Byron said, “ Since Eve ate apples, much 
depends on eating,” and pays special attention to ... . 

Weddings, Afternoon Teas, Receptions 
and Germans. 

Those participating in these inter- xnc MiMTU QTOTCT M W 
esting enjoyments will find him at O 1 1 j fi. Yl ^ 

His Cafe already famous with Washingtonians, is first-class in every 
particular For the pleasure of theatre-goers aiul their com- 
panions, his Cafe remains open till ii p. m. 


M. KET5 KEMETHY 



Invites all to visit his studio aud see 
the pictures of his artistic skill. Por- 


traits of all styles attest the suDerior 
cjuality of his handiwork. 


‘‘.A thing of beauty is a joy forever; 

Its loveliness increases ; it will never pass into nothingness.” — K eats 


Tho.se who desire to send exquisite 
pictures dow’ii to posteritv, will find 
none more satisfactory than those 
taken at 



1109 and nil PENNA. AVENUE 


RERTINENX • • • 

Do your shirts fit? No? 

Weil! we’ll make you 

SIX I=OR NINE DOL-L-T^RS 

that will fit. If they don’t, you need not keep them. 

COk/UD 73:NVXNIMG be EPlIRER? 

LOK3 HIRSH, 

HATTERS, OUTFITTERS, SHIRTMAKERS, 

D113 D" S'FREET" N OR'l'H WES"1'. 


Washington §hoe Smporium. 

“Let firm, well-hanrnere l soles protect thy feet. 

Thro’ freezing^ snows and rain and soakina: sleet. 

For when too short the modish shoes are worn, 

You’ll judge the season by your shooting corn.’’ 

Gay was recommending the fine shoe of 

familg 

310 AND 312 SEVENTH STREET. 

How many have seen the 
Photograph Case of . . . 

•f fBISHOP. ^ ?- 

905 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, 

And have not admired the finish and 
charming naturalness of the pictures? 
Each lovely maid or handsome beau 
of Washington 

“ Sits here like Beauty’s child, whom Nature gat. 

For men to see, and seeing, wonder at.’’ — Shaks. 

Characteristic poses and expressions 
ensure excellent liknesses. He will 
prove his success in these points when 
you visit his studio 






"Variety’s the very spice of life 
That gives it all its flavour.’’ 

So Cowper said, and you will agree with him when j-ou have visited 

tlbe Boston Daviet^ Store, 

705, 707, 709 PENIMA. AVE. 

the variety that makes life worth living is found, 
in the various elegant, completely-fitted departments 
of the store. We have all manner of holiday goods 
on exhibition from the exquisite Sterling and Silver Plated 
Ware, the latest daintiest Novelties in Jewelry and Bric-a-Brac 
for the elders of the family, to the prettiest Dolls, and Most faci- 
uating To}S in the city, for the wee ones. In contrast to the 
Articles of Ornamentation, are the really Useful Goods — all 
sorts of Leather Work, Umbrellas, and Table Ware. Indeed, 
to the eye that loves the beautiful, to the eye that loves the 
useful, nothing can be half so interesting as a tour of our 
building. 

EMMONS S. SMITH. 


tbe poor maiUe mint/’ 

Tupper, the poet, has given us our motto. 

Eour-liltlis oi' wliat you pay else %vli ere is 
our price, because we are Itlaiiiiraeturers. 


EISi^iVIAN 3ROS.. 

•f CLOTHIERS, •• 

Cerner Seventli amd. 3 Streets. 


"The apparel oft proclaims the man.’’ 

Shaks. advises all to call on us. 


" Heap on more wood ! the wind is chill ; 

But let it whistle as it will 

We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.’’ — Scott. 

The Wood that makes the Warmest, Brightest, Fastest 
Fire Is found at 

iMHLTER H. TvyHRLOiAi’S 

(Joal . and . Wood . ^)epot8, 

IWain Office, 710 D Street, fl- W. 


CALL ON US PERSONALLY OR BY TELEPHONE. 


Bipds! Goldfish I Dogs! Deer! IVIonkeys! 

KDWIN S. SCHM113, 

712 TWELFTH ST., N. W., 

AND 1221 PENNA. AVENUE. 

Finest Emporium in this Country of Household 
Pets. He has an e.xtensive stock on hand, be- 
ing closely connected with the Leading Import- 
ing Houses, and is therefore supplied with the 
most beautiful and rare of foreign animals. . 

Pa RROTS, those most talkative and inter- 
esting of companions 

Monkeys, with their never-failing vivac- 
ity 

Deer, with their gentle affectionate ways. 

Besides the pets. Handsome Cages, Beautiful Aquariums, with all the neces- 
sary and most modern appurtenances are at hand, and the most carefully 
prepared foods are always ready. Mr. Schmid is versed in 
pet lore, and keeps the best of animals and animal 
houses, as well as the most nutritious food. 

Anyone desirous of procuring a pet, from a Thoroughbred St. Bernard, or 
Well Bred Feline, to the most faccinating Monkey, or the sweetest 
Songsters, will be inexpressibly pleased by visiting 

7vyR. EDiMIN S. SCHTvyiD, 

CATALOGUE FREE ON APPLICATION. 




“ His pencil was striking, resistless and grand, 

His manners, were gentle, complying and bland. 

Still born to improve us in every part. 

His pencil, our faces— his manners, our heart. — Goldsmith. 


•• ESTK BROOK, f f 


The Successor to ANTRIM, 


1227 Pennsylvania Avenue, 



Pays particular attention to Crayons 
and Water-colors, and obtains excel- 
lent liknesses. Besides other photo- 
graohic work, finished in first-clnss 
style, he makes a specialty of chil- 
dren, securing the prettiest positions a 
lover of infantine grace could desire. 
His studio is acknowledge to have 
the softest and most becoming lights 
of any in the city 


“ Men’s various cares in one great point combine, 
The business of their lives— that is'. to dine.” 


When Young made that remark he was 
thinking partirularly of the unnecessary 
necessaries, that all men desire. Of these 


BUTTER 


GOOL3 CI^tCANdKRY 


Is most essential ; try it; it cannot fail 
to please you. 


ROTH & QEOQEQHAN, 

BUTTER AND EGGS, 932 LOUISIANA AVE. 


. . . visit:' . . . 


S. KANN SONS’ COMPANY, 

For Bargains in 




DRY GOODS, LADIES’ WRAPS, 
SILK DRESS GOODS, HOLIDAY 
PRESENTS 


(^or. 8tPi and SpaeB> 


fierce’s old stand. 

Prior has convinced ns of the truth of his proverb, 
‘Tf thou wouldst be happy, learn to please.” . . 


★ 


‘‘ Lady, you are the cruel'st thing alive, 

If you will lead these graces to the grave 
And leave the world no copy.” — S haks. 

You will find excellent Copies 
of your Style of Beauty at . . 

MERRITT’S 

gtudio, 6)2© fennsylvania Avenue. 

He has the worth}- fortune of bting 
considered one of Washin tilon’s best 
photojrraphers, having had great .‘suc- 
cess with the delicate tone colors, easy 
positions and interesting expression. 



VISIT HIS PMRLORSI 



18 YEARS’ COLLECTION OF PUBLIC PEOPLE. 


Q. yvv. BelFs pPiotograpPiiQ Art gtadio, 

-4:66 PENNK. KiZENUE. 

H as for long 3'ears been the leading establishment of the kind in Wash- 
ington, both as a studio foi the taking of pictures and as a place for 
procuring pictures of our famous people. He has on exhibition and 
(or sale a large collection of portraits of interesting subjects, including the 
Judges of the Supreme Court of the IJ. S ; of the Supreme Court of the Dis- 
trict, Court of Appeals, Mrs. Cleveland’s latest poses, Monsignor tatolli, 
the Cabinet Ladies, and a full series of Congressional Members. He makes 
a specialty of ladies and children, and gives also particular attention to out 
door photography, and the enlargement of pictures bj’ solar or electric lights. 


Read the Charming New Book 

FORQETMENOT: 


OR SUNSHINE IN AFFLICTION, 

BY 


?? I-ICE 


LI UEOiAZE I_I_. 




A dainty book, abounding in beautiiul thoughts, 
interesting discussions and pretty scenes. Bear- 
ing the fruit of the author’s thoughtful young 
life ; a comfort to the afflicted, a pleasure to the 
healthful. 


“ The burning soul, the burdened mind. 

In books alone companions find.” — Mrs. Hale. 


EURNITUREI CMRPETSI 


‘‘Sofas t’vvere half a sin to sit upon. 

So lovely were they; carpets, every stitch 
t)f workmanship so rare, they made you wish 
You could glide o’er them like a golden fish.” 

Byron made reference to 

WT^SH. e. :VtZIL-L.I7T7VYS’. 

311, 317, 819 SEVENTH ST. HANDSOME 

633 AND 635 LOUISIANA AVE. UPHOLSTERY 

632, 634 D STREET N, W. GOODS. 


M. SCHUSTER, 

717 jlIAKKET SPACE. 

A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY! 
CHRISTMAS SHOPPERS! 
ARE YOU INTERESTED? 

If so, we are selling ‘a Solid Gold Watch, nickel 
movement, full-jewelled. 

True as the dial to the sun, 

Altrough it be not shined upon. 


ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 


“ The hope of all who suffer, 

The dread of all who wrong.” — W hittier 

1321 F STREET, N. W., 

WASHINGTON, D C. 

IVLONKY LOANED AND INVESTED. 
WHIXK SI^IN Vautiful COJMPIvKXION 

ALWAYS FOLLOW THE USE OF 

H M rs DO LI N E 

25 Cents Per Bottle. 

Try it, and all will say with Shaks., 

“ She looks as clear as morning roses ^ 

newly washed with dew.” .... 

P. S. WILUIKTvyS St COTvyPKNV 

TEMPLE DRUG STORE. 


“ In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed 

To make some good, but others to e.xceed.” — Shaks. 

Clinedinst’s Photographic Studios, 

719 J^ENNA. AVENUE, 

1207 F STREET N. W. 

p^AVE the wonderful invention, whereby 
electricity occupies the place of the sun 
and supplies the light and printing necessities. 
Photographs, e.\t)uisite in tone, taken regard- 
less of weather or light. Pictures taken by 
night, so ladies in evening dress may escape 
the irksome day-time dressing. By the new 
invention, one person may appear in the same 
photograph in several different positions. Ar- 
tistic posing. Excellent work. The inven- 
tion of the age. 

••• ••• iZlSIT THE STUDIOS. ••• r 










LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ^ 




OOOEEnSEHH 


